


Oranges and Lemons

by Leaves_on_the_ground



Category: McLennon - Fandom, The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mental Institutions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-05-07 19:58:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14678363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leaves_on_the_ground/pseuds/Leaves_on_the_ground
Summary: In which John is sent to a mental hospital where he meets a black-haired lad with an unpleasant story.





	1. Chapter 1

_When I was about twelve I used to think, 'I must be a genius, but nobody's noticed'. Either I'm a genius or I'm mad, which is it? 'No,' I said, 'I can't be mad, because nobody's put me away._

_\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

The car was waiting for me outside to put me away and shut me down in the St. Clement's Psychiatric Hospital in Liverpool for adolescents with mental disorders. Two robust and rather corpulent men grabbed me and frog-marched me by force out of my childhood house, leaving everything behind the closed door: my guitar, my drawings, my poems. I wasn’t allowed to take anything with me, nothing of my personal belongings -- not even my clothes -- like it all had been contaminated by the bubonic plague and –-  _as it’d seemed_ –- by me as well. 

The medical workers didn’t treat me gently, to be fair. They clutched my arms in a strong, tight grip and bent my head down, jerking me away from the kitchen where I’d been having a breakfast with my aunt until they’d broken in and thrown me out. I was squirming and swearing like a tanked up sailor; I was trying to loose free from the rough clutch; I was crying for Mimi to tell what I’d done and to make the orderlies answer for their actions; in tears I was begging her to help me, to do something – _anything!_ – but she only stood still, saying nothing and watching me being dragged from the house and from her life. Her lips were pursed, her hands crossed over her chest but the moment when my head had been ducked by a strong, meaty hand into the car, she covered her eyes under her palm and entwined her other hand around the waist as if she was on the verge of tears or just simply ashamed of me. 

And yet, that wasn’t Mimi’s fault why they were taking me away. So who’s fault was that?

There’s no reason to deny it – she hasn’t been the best, sweet and nice, country aunt. In fact, she’s threatened me before that someday the men in the white coats (as she used to call them) might put me in an asylum, or a madhouse, or even a padded cell if I’d continue doing what I’d been doing and wouldn’t change my _unruly_ behaviour. Her words, not mine.

 “ _John_ ,” she’d said to me one day. “I’ve got a call from your head teacher. He was trying to prove me that you have a mental illness. The teachers don’t know how to handle you and they all agree that you’re uncontrollable. The pictures that you’re drawing…”

“This is art, Mimi,” I said through gritted teeth.

“This is rubbish. I forbid you to draw that filth.”  

She forbids me. She forbids me everything in the world that’s not covered with a layer of mould of fusty principals and morals of the society we lived in. She may seem like a strong, independent woman but in reality she’s very depended on the old crones’ approvals. Because – _what will people think, John!_

“Anything else, my dear auntie?” I crooked my lips into an off-putting smile.

“You’ve offended a teacher.”

“Which one?” It could’ve been anyone.

Have they written a petition against me? Possibly. It didn’t matter now as the corpsmen had been pushing me inside the car, twisting my arms and closing the door on my pre-morning life.

How long have we been driving? Hard to say – since it’s not the easiest task to concentrate when you’re sitting in the middle between two brawny, bull-like men who’re holding a grip on you the entire journey to the madhouse.

When the car had finally stopped and reached the destination, the sons of bitches conducted themselves towards me a lot rougher. I fell a few times on my knees and one time I nearly kissed the ground – though, the firm fingers caught me the last second by my fringe. Perhaps, they gained the sudden power over me the very second the car had gone through the gates right inside the asylum’s territory or maybe it was the minute when Mimi had vanished out of sight. Therefore, they dragged me outside the car by pulling at my hair and clawing to bruises at my upper arms with their short, fat fingers. I tried to wriggle away to lose a grip a little but the hold on me was too hefty and secure and two men had strength far greater than mine; while I wasn’t a wimp myself.

So they lugged me. They hauled me along the long corridors with white walls, along the stairs and half-empty halls.

A knock on the door, a solemn _‘Mrs Smith’s boy’s here’_ and that’s it: from here on I’m a locked-in insane prisoner.

“Come here, young man,” a husky voice said. “Take a seat and let’s talk.”

I sat down and crossed my arms while looking around the office: a big red-wooden table with a nameplate on it and photo frames, too, diplomas on the walls stating how great the man was, a bookshelf filled only with the psychological and medical books, two wonky chairs (for a loony and prob’ly for his mom) – but the doctor – a real healer of souls – was sitting in a huge leather armchair with his elbows resting on the table. He was an old, grey man with the eyeglasses on the tip of his eagle-like nose and his snoot was the biggest one I’ve ever seen. And I’ve thought my nose was long. 

 “To start, let’s get to know each other. My name’s Dr Bricks and you, I believe, John Winston Lennon, is that right?”

“That is right.”

“Very good,” the doctor picked up some papers. “Seventeen years old, lives with his parental guardian Mrs Mary Smith, the aunt. The father's not in the picture, and the mother's dead.” He sighed and looked up. “So, John, tell me why have you been sent over here?”

“I have no idea, doc. I hope you’ll tell me.”

“Well, in that case, let’s see.” He lowered his eyes down again. “It says that you have a disruptive and scurrilous behaviour.”

“ _Scurrilous_ ,” I rolled the word on my tongue.

 “As it’s written down here, son. It also says that you’re ill-mannered and impolite, disrespectful towards the faculty and staff. Talk when you’re not permitted… An aggressive young man. Shall I continue?”

“Oh, yes, please. I’m very curious.”

“It also suggests that you have latent homosexual tendencies.”

“What?” I shifted in my seat. “Where’s that come from?”

“Hm, listen: _a picture (of his own) of a man holding his fully-erected penis has been confiscated during the math class with Mr Campbell.”_

That bald old impotent. Could it be him?  I wasn’t sure. But being accused because you’re an impolite bad boy is one thing, another is being born in England where the worn out puritan beliefs could have a pretty solid ground to put a man behinds bars. And since I was still seventeen, it could be that the law didn’t have the power to lock me up in jail but in an asylum -- why not?

The community holds firmly the starting-lever in the hands and when one individual oppresses the public opinion the lever can be pulled. In my case, the community was my neighbourhood and school, while my protest was expressed in free-thinking. 

Oh, that pathetic good-ol’ Mr Campbell! I bet how jealous he was of me! Has he ever had a wet dream about me?

“You think you’re a genius, Lennon,” he’d said, his hands on his hips. “Einstein was a genius, may he rest in peace. Isaac Newton, Michael Faraday…”

“If you'll excuse me, Mr Campbell, you think that an artist can’t be a genius as well?”

“You’re not an artist. Even a cartoonist is a big word for you.”

I’d clenched my fists. Why does everybody think, it’s their sacred duty to point me who I really am and who I’m not? Nobody knows me and nobody will.  

“Math’s not really my thing, doc.” I answered, stretching my legs.

“I see. Are you any good at art, then?”

“Well,” I scratched my head. To tell the truth, the doc’s unexpected question had thrown me a little out of kilter. “I’m not bad, I guess. Well, I think so, at least.”

“Very well, John. So why have you been drawing a man with an erection? Do you fancy boys?”

“What?! No! It’s not like… why, does a drawing of a naked man make me a queer? I have also drawings of naked women and what? Does it make me a lesbian then?”

“Calm down, son. I’m not accusing you, I’m asking you. So, I understand, you prefer women?”

“Yes, doc, I do. I _prefer_ women.”

“Very well, son.” He said and scribbled something down in his pocketbook. Maybe ‘prefer’ wasn’t the best word choice. Should I have said ‘love’ instead? It was too late, anyway.

But for fuck’s sake, how jaded I’ve already become of his endless _‘very-wells’_.

“And? Why am I here? Is that because one old gaffer – well, sorry! – Mr Campbell thought that I might be a queer and it’ll be a jolly good idea to send me to a madhouse, eh?”

“That’s a psychiatric hospital, John. Don’t put it like you’ve been sent to a prison. We’re not keeping anyone here by force.” He sighed. “The real reason why you’re here is that your school faculty wanted to have you evaluated. To determine whether or not you’re mentally ill. So we’ll have some tests and then when we’ll find out that you’re totally fine and in good shape, there would be no need to keep you here a minute longer.”

“I beg your pardon Dr… Bricks.” I snapped, putting my elbows on the desk. “But what if I don’t have the slightest pinch of the desire of being evaluated?”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, John.” The doctor heaved a sigh. “I’ve got a document on my hands and there’s nothing I can do to let you go.”

“You know, doctor, I’m not a lawyer or anything but isn’t it my aunt’s job to decide whether or not I should be examined in a m—hospital? Or else, whether or not I should be locked down in a cell, huh?”

“That’s correct, John, but not that simple. This document” – he waved the mentioned document in front of me – “contains the collection of signatures from your school, and not only the staff have signed it but the students, too. And the number of the inscribed names is enough to have authority over you. So if you won’t oblige to undergo the tests, your situation may become worse. And it will, eventually.” He finished and fixed his glasses. “But, at any rate, we’re not locking you in here, as you put it, John. A few tests and you’re free and back home.”

My deductions turned out to be right. Elementary, my dear Watson. There’s only two options, to be specific: a _lock-up or lock-in._ So the question is: do you fancy jailhouses as much as you fancy boys? _Do you, do you John??! Do you wanna be the cutest jailbird that ever been seen?_

 “You’re not locking me in here, you say. So, I take it, I can go for a walk any time I feel like, huh? Invite some of my _girlfriends_?”

“Unfortunately, no. The patients can’t leave the building, John.” He gave me a pity smile. “But your friends, without a doubt, can pay you a visit, if you’d like. However, this hospital is a private facility and almost 60 miles away from Liverpool so on average the residents receive one visit per week.”

I sighed and threw my head back. Even if I wanted somebody to see me -- and I don’t -- who on earth would like to pay me a visit? My strict aunt who didn’t even utter a word? My dead mother? Well, if only as a ghost. Or maybe my father _who_ ’ _s not in the picture?_ I could only laugh, imagining any of my on and off _darlings_ saying seriously to their mums and dads: _‘I wanna visit my (boy)friend in the mental institution. May I?’_ And then – bam! – protruded eyes and mouths agape. _‘Of course, sweetheart, you may. Is that THE Lennon you’ve mentioned before? Well, it must be him. It must be. Well, dear, be a good girl then and bring him some lemons! Lemon for Lennon, got it? Ahahahaha!’_

I sighed, “What kind of tests?”

“Nothing peculiar. The regular Rorschach test – you know, when you tell what you see at the ink-blotted pictures – your social skills, maybe some personality tests… As I’ve said – nothing odd.”

There’s a well-known fact, the more you claim that you’re sane, the fewer people believe you. That’s quite funny, really, ‘cause if you state that you’re crazy, the people have no doubts about it.

“Alright,” I sighed again. “When does it start? End”

“Starts tomorrow at nine. And lasts for a week. But at first, I want you to sign this.” He said, moving a piece of paper towards me with his finger.

“What’s that?” I squinted my eyes.

“Just an arrangement between you and the hospital that you’re agreed to undergo some tests and then to receive a certificate later on. This arrangement also provides you with the hospital clothes, meals and so on. Feel free to read it.”

“Huh…” I hummed, leaning over the document and skipping through it. It seemed aright – at least I haven't found any line stating that I must be locked and put in a straitjacket right away so I gave it my autograph. My first one, mind you.

As I signed it, I flopped back into the chair.

“And we’re done today.” He smiled and made a quick call to someone named Sherry to drop in his office. A woman about 30 years old -- slim body, copper hair put into a bun -- came in and took me gently by the hand – a real contrast compared to those fuckers.

The doctor asked her to take me into room 9 and give me the night clothes. We said goodbye to each other and the woman led me towards the exit. Once we were outside the doc’s office, she asked me to took off my shoes and replaced them with the white slippers. I sighed heavily and did what she’d told. The plimpsols were off and the nurse grabbed me by the hand again and ushered me into the labyrinth of the corridors and doors.

“My name’s Sherry Oswald,” she said after a while. “And what’s yours?”

“The name’s John.”

“Nice to meet you, John. You’re a very good-looking young man and I hope you won’t get too skinny while in here.”

“I’m not staying here for long, nursie.” I chuckled, checking her out. She wasn’t so bad herself. Would she let me, I wonder? “A week isn’t long enough to make a broomstick out of me.”

She smiled and patted me gently on my hand. “Of course not, dear. Here’s your room. Be quiet please, your roommate’s sleeping.”

“I have a roommate?!” I exclaimed and goggled at her in total bewilderment.

“Well, yes.” She answered somehow absent-mindedly.  

The room was small, that’s for sure. Two beds against the walls, two bedside tables, two chairs behind the beds and the main feature ( _fanfares and hold your breath!_ ) a window with the metal bars. Not a jail, indeed.

Anyway, that’s not the point now -- not the fucking metal bars -- but my unforeseen neighbour who’s been sleeping deeply under the covers; and since his face was opposite to the wall, the only thing that had been opened to my very eyes was his thick black hair on the back of his head.

“His name’s Paul and he’s fifteen years old.”

“Mm. And why he’s here?” I asked, indifferent.

“Well… some sad things have happened. He’s had a mental breakdown right after his father’s wedding… and… At any rate, he’s on strong sedatives now and nothing can really wake him up. But that doesn’t mean you have to be noisy, young man.” Sherry pointed her finger at me.  

That was clear that she didn’t want – or perhaps she wasn’t allowed – to say me more what exactly had happened to this boy. However, her evasive reply didn’t piss me off as I hadn’t had any desire to inquire anything about this place or its patients. For I was enrolled in here as a member of a madhouse just for a week and the only thing I needed to do was to bite the bullet and endure my stay at this fucked-up place.

But – come on! They put me in an asylum with someone like that weakling who just couldn’t stand this daddy getting hitched with his new mummy. Well, I'll be damned...

“Yeah, whatever,” I answered after some time, never bothering to lower my voice. Then I collapsed onto the bed, my eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Never thought that a nervous breakdown can be an excuse to put a lad into a loony bin.”

“You think so? Alright, tell me then, what _excuses_ come under that category, John?”

“Schizophrenia, that’s for sure. Erm, what’s else? Concussion, you know, when you return from the war… hm… when you’re barking at the passers-by? You know, stuff like that.”

“You’re terribly wrong, John. Any mental disorder can be justified to put a person under the treatment. In our institution, we’re helping young men and boys with those kinds of illnesses which are causing them and the people around them harm. Anxiety, drug and alcohol abuse, panic attacks, self-harm… The list is long.”

“Mm, right. So you’re telling me that I can be absolutely relaxed and… slack -- and I shouldn’t be expecting that lunatic to strangle me to death when he’s awake?”

“No, John. Paul’s very tranquil.”

“Professional jargon, eh?” I glanced at her.

“You can say that. I’m going to bring you your clothes and maybe some food? Tea? Are you hungry? The patients are not allowed to eat in their rooms but you’re here the first day so we can make an exception, right?”

“I’m _not_ a patient, Ms Sherry.” I said through gritted teeth, raising my head to look at her. Unconsciously, my fists clenched the sheets so I quickly loosed the grip, hoping that she hadn’t noticed it and subsequently wouldn’t tell those loads of shit about me to the doctor that I’m _aggressive_ and dangerous to society.

“Sure, John.” She said calmly. “How about some biscuits and tea then? How would you like that?”

“Whatever. I’m not hungry or thirsty, anyway… but alright, bring it all. And maybe a book? What time’s it?”

“It was past seven when I met you in the Dr Bricks office,” she said. “What kind of book do you want?”

“Mmm… Lovecraft, Edgar Poe?”

“We don’t have such books, dear.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

“We have Mark Twain instead,” she added quickly. “Charles Dickens, Jules Verne…”

“Alright. Bring me Jules Verne. But not _‘Around the World’_ and _‘…under the sea’_ , alright? Oh, wait – you can actually bring me the last one but – oh, well. Nevermind.”

“I’ll pick a few then. You’ll be able to choose.”

“Ta.”

When she closed the door behind her, I made a beeline for it. And fuck, it was locked. Did the nurse have such dexterous fingers to lock it so quickly and without a sound or the door can only be opened from one side? The very look of it made me feel nauseous and utterly uncomfortable since there was a peephole in it – or more like a tiny square window. The spy hole was left open (and also it can be shut from one side only, I noticed it when I was taking a tour to my cell) so I took a gander through it and saw nothing but an empty white wall. The rooms in the mental hospital weren’t situated across from each other.

I grunted and plonked down on the bed. You don’t need to be a lunatic to get into an asylum but you can definitely become one while you’re in here.  

This whole place had a tangible, spooky atmosphere and there was nothing I could do about it as long as anybody could come in the middle of the night and peek through that hole.

The room suddenly became too small, too small even to breathe. I closed my eyes, trying to put myself together. The only thing that can help me out of here was to keep my feelings hidden, and if it’s true I’ll grasp it, I’ll clutch at a fucking straw.

_Breathe in._

_Breathe out._

Why was it so quiet? I could only hear myself as if the boy in front of me was dead.

My eyes wide-opened and I sprang to a sitting position. Did the boy actually breathe? It seemed like his chest didn’t move at all, like he didn’t need to fill his lungs with air.

_John._

_Calm down! Calm down. Or they’ll keep you here forever._

_The boy’s breathing, can you see? His breast is rising and falling, you see?_

_He’s not dead and you not locked-in here alone with the corpse. He’s sleeping, he’s only sleeping and he’s just very…_

_…tranquil._

“Why are you staring at Paul like that?” the voice came out of nowhere. “John? _John?_ ”

A hand touched my shoulder and I snapped out of it.  Sherry Oswald was standing over me. This time she wasn’t alone. Another woman – big and heavy – was helping her to carry odds and sods which were my requested books and hospital rags.

“Huh?” I blinked. “Oh, I'm sorry, I was just thinking.”

She smiled and put a tray of tea and biscuits on the bedside table near me. That’s funny, ‘cause only now I’ve noticed that the other bedside table that belonged my roommate had nothing on it expect of the half-empty glass of water.

_… half-full?_

Half-full, or I’ll never get out of here.

“John, this is nurse Stroud, she and I will make you a company while you’re here.”

“Nice to meet you, nurse Stroud.” I smiled, showing a string of white teeth. I was trying to be a good boy.

However, my charms didn’t work on this elephantine lady as she frowned at me and pursed her lips.

“John Lennon,” she spat my name as if I was the most repulsive human being in the entire world. “Here are your books and a nightshirt.” She put the books onto the bed and shoved the insulting garment into my hands. 

“Anything else you want, dear?” that was the other nurse; the nice one.

And yes, there was something else.

I wanted desperately to get the fuck out of here.

“Yes, there is.” I kept on being nice. “What if I have a need to use the bathroom?”

“The bathroom’s down the corridor on the right,” the nice nurse answered.” There’s a sign on it so you won’t miss it.”

“What?!” I deadpanned. “Don’t you lock the door?”

Nurse Stroud heaved a tired sigh.

Nurse Oswald smiled gently, “Of course not! You’re not going to take to your heels tonight, right?”

“No. Of course not…”

“So there’s no need in locking the door, then!” She cheered. “Oh, one more thing, John. I want you to leave all your clothes on that (she pointed with her finger) chair. All of them.”

“Yeah, yeah. And socks too.”

“Yes. And socks too.”

“Let’s go, Sherry,” Stroud grunted. “We have work to do.”

“Right. See you tomorrow, John.”

They left and I stayed like that for a long time: sitting on the bed and staring at the door. An alarming feeling was eating inside me and I was becoming really scared.

Fuck the door. Fuck the lock. Fuck that I’ve been turning paranoid.

That boy hasn't made a bloody sound during the whole damn time and he hasn't even moved. He seemed comatose to me, a stiff mess of the body, but that made me drew a certain conclusion.

I must never swallow any pills in this god-forgotten place.

And then, as it wasn’t really happening to me, I jumped on my feet and with a jerk turned the boy on his back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! Thank you all so much for your encouraging comments! I really didn’t expect so many of you to actually like this story!

“Alright, John.” Dr Bricks said, holding a card before me. “What do you see on this one?”

I sighed. It’s been at least four hours since I started participating in this twaddle. I’ve already undergone dozens of A/B or ABCD tests (circle the correct answer) which were getting more absurd with every following question. Some questions –- especially ludicrous –- had left a special imprint in my mind and I was absolutely sure that I’d get back to them as soon as I was lying in bed and reminiscing today’s events.

Seriously, who came up with such questions? And what a normal person should answer to something like: _There are two drowning living creatures in the sea, a child (someone else’s) and your dog. You can only save one. Who will it be?_  

I nibbled at the tip of the pencil while chewing over the suitable reply; but then again, could there be one? To whom a _healthy man_ should be cruel and cold-blooded? To his own dog or _someone else’s_ kid? Somehow, deep inside my mind, I knew that if such a situation happened to me, I’d plunge immediately after my dog and never noticing the child; but then once I was on the shore, I’d pull at my hair, asking myself: ‘What I’ve done?’.

Although there was no space to write under the question, I found the way to escape the provocative inquiry so I jotted down a remark, saying: _‘I do not know if all the dogs can swim naturally but I’m certain that at least they can paddle so I’d save the child first and then I’d return for my doggie.’_

After I’d done with all that paperwork, the doctor picked up a pack of cards with blotted pictures in them and I tried pretty hard to see something apart from pelvises, animal hides of four-legged humans. This one, that he’d been showing me, depicted two nude women with sturdy nipples and with their arms raised up, sitting back to back to each other. So what did I see?  

“A butterfly,” I said, remembering Paul’s advice.  

The doctor nodded and wrote my answer down. Inside the doc’s office was noticeably quiet when no one was talking and the only sound that had been heard was the ticking of the wall clock behind my back.

“This was the last card, John, so I won’t bother you today any longer.”

“Hurray,” I said without a hint of joy in my voice.

For a brief moment, the old man looked at me from under his thick lenses of the eyeglasses and then returned to writing.

“Before I’ll let you go,” he said after a while. “There’s one thing I’d like to ask you, John.”

“Yeah?”

He put the pen away and crossed his arms over the table.

“Have you talked with your roommate yet? What do you think of him?”

I threw my head back and started recalling the events of the previous night…

… with a jerk I turned the boy on his back. The blanket folded around his waist, revealing his upper body. And God –- he looked like a ghost. The first thing that caught my attention was the dark circles under his eyes and pallid skin. His face was framed with raven-like locks, giving the almost washed-out tint to his sharp features. His cheeks were too pale to be healthy and his lips looked dry and waxy. He was dressed in a familiar nightshirt -- that I was supposed to wear as well –- with the collar of it being lowered too low and showing his acute collarbones. The boy was so bony that it even seemed scary to lay a finger on him.

Carefully, I brought my hand with two of the digits pressed together towards his nose to verify once and for all that the boy was actually breathing. Finally, I felt relaxed as the warm puff of his breath enveloped my fingers. And then –- suddenly -- as if he’d sensed my presence near him, he heaved a deep sigh and rolled his head aside, brushing my fingers with his upper lip which felt almost glacial against my skin.

Was he so cold?

I cursed and tugged the blanket back up to his neck, veiling him with it.

_Don’t you dare to mother him! Bloody hell!_

I growled and sat back on my bed, reaching for the tea, unsweetened (and I used to drink to tea with two lumps of sugar), but the biscuits added some savour of honey, making it less strong and bitter. 

When I swallowed the last gulp of my drink, I went straight to the door, pulling the handle down and then -- _out of the blue!_ –- it hadn’t been closed so I stepped into the corridor. Somehow, I haven’t noticed it at once but on both ends of the passage were glass-wooden doors which slide towards each other like a folding screen. Perhaps, they were stayed open during the day hours to create a certain illusion of space but now I felt like I was _in a confined place inside the other confined place._

Someone was standing behind the glass door, staring long enough at me. A prison guard, I guess.

Swearing under my breath, I went to the opposite side of the passage where the loo was supposed to be. Inside the toilet room, I put my hands on the sink and leaned my head against the mirror. The chills ran down my veins, making me tremble with an unknown to me before feeling. I felt… helpless… frightened… lonely. I had no one in this blood-curling place, not even Mimi whom I could embrace but who wouldn’t embrace me in return. There was also no bird around who could’ve stroked my hair and kissed me better.

_Calm down. Don’t be a milksop._

The tears dribbled down my cheeks so I turned the tap on to wash them away. I cupped my palms, letting the water puddle in my folded hands before bending my head forward into the water.

_There’s no use in self-pity._

I turned off the water and came back to my room where the boy had still been sleeping like a log.

I had no enthusiasm for getting changed into the robe but my unwillingness was too weak taking into account what might expect me if I wouldn’t obey. With a groan, I put the nightshirt on (with nothing underneath) and got under the covers. The unbearable thoughts were corroding my mind, the thoughts too loud to fall asleep. 

Oh god, I didn’t feel like doze off at all.  

I didn’t feel like reading either and yet I grabbed the first book, lying atop on the pile of the others, and opened the first page, struggling very hard to keep my thought at bay.

_'This story is not fantastic; it is merely romantic…’ *_

A knock on the door – the book fell on the floor. The sun was diving into the room, scattering the beams of light over the walls and stinging slightly my eyelids.

What, was it morning already?

“Good morning, John,” Sherry said, picking the book from the floor and putting it on the bedside table. “Have you been reading until you fell asleep?”

“Mm,” I rubbed my eyes and stretched my back. “Yeah, it seems so.”

She smiled and seated herself on the bed next to the boy.

“Paul,” the nurse cooed his name, shaking him lightly by the shoulder. “Wake up, dear. It’s morning.”

A drowsy yawn and incoherent mumble. He clumsily sat upright, batting his eyelashes to dispel the remains of his sleep.   

“Good morning, Ms Oswald,” he said hoarsely.

“Morning, dear. Meet your roommate John. He arrived here yesterday but you were fast asleep.”

He stared at me under his heavy eyelids. In the daylight hours, his cheekbones seemed keener and his skin was white as snow. His big, greenish eyes were prominent on his gaunt face but also sad and tired as he hadn’t been sleeping much the past few weeks.    

“Hi… John. I’m Paul. McCartney.”

“John Lennon.”

He nodded at my reply, holding out his left arm towards me. What, did he really expect me to shake his raw-boned hand?  

I quickly stood on my feet, giving him a loose grip with my fingers around his palm and it felt like touching a ghost. Why was he so cold again?

“Alright, boys!” Sherry said cheerfully. “John, I’m going to wash your yesterday clothes while Nurse Stroud has a new set for you,” she nodded at the doorway where the mentioned nurse stood. “So quickly change your clothes and Nurse Stroud will take you and Paul to the bathroom. And then after the breakfast, you’ll have a consultation will Dr Bricks.”

“A consultation?” I raised my eyebrow.

“Your tests.”

“Yeah, right.”

The Big Nurse put the clothes, that she’d been carrying the whole time, on the chair behind mine and Paul’s beds. And as she did so, Sherry grabbed the tray and passed it to Stroud who took it and retired from the room.

“I’ll see you later,” Oswald cooed and left as well, closing the door behind her.

Without any grace, Paul crawled out from under his blanket and reached for his clothes: a pair of loose black trousers and a grey t-shirt. Never uttering a word or facing me, he tugged at the hem of his nightshirt, pulling it over his head and revealing a skeletal view of his body. Fuck, the boy was so unbelievingly skinny that I could’ve sworn, I’d seen every bone of his spine.

But not only the boy was thin as a rake, he also had no shame.

“What?” he asked, catching my eyes.

“Nothing,” I grumbled and outstretched my hand for clothes which were identical to Paul’s, except my t-shirt was white. I also detected a sponge bag and… a pair of underwear -- _and I don’t wanna say anything about that._

A nasty thought permeated into my mind and the very idea of it almost made me snigger; so I took off my nightshirt, exposing every bit of myself, and Paul, who’d done with his dressing, turned around and blushed immediately.

_He should blush more so his pale cheeks can gain some colour._

I blinked and narrowed my eyes. What was I thinking?

“What?!” I grunted at him as if he was guilty of my thoughts. I quickly put a t-shirt over my head, still standing bare-arsed in front of him.

“Nothing,” he replied and his cheeks reddened even more.

“No privacy in this bloody cesspit!” I muttered, slipping into the undershorts. 

“You could’ve asked me to close my eyes, you know, if you’re shy.”

“And you could’ve shuddup, fucking hell!”

“I’m sorry?” He lifted an eyebrow.

“Fuck,” I put on the last piece of my outfit. “Any advice how I should behave meself with the great and powerful doctor?”

“It depends why are you here.”

“Well, someone’s decided that I’m impolite and aggressive and that I should be evaluated.”

“Are you? Aggressive, I mean.”

“Am I look aggressive to you?” I raised my voice at him, regretting at once.

_Well done, Lennon. Now he can say the doctor how bad you are! Ha-ha._

Paul sat cautiously on the bed as if he was a red flag and I was a bull so every unnecessary word or rush movement could’ve thrown me at him, and yet I didn’t blame him for that. After all, he didn’t know me and had no idea why I’d got into the madhouse.

“Whatever,” he said with his gaze fixed on me. “If that’s all then I don’t see a snag why they should keep you in here. The doctor’s gonna show you some blurred pictures and all you have to do is to say that you see nothing but flowers and butterflies, that’s it. Although, some pictures might unmistakably resemble you a womb or a dick -- you must say that you see a rose or margarita, anyway.”

“Got it,” I nodded. “But there’s something else… er...” Should I tell him? At any rate, I’m not gonna see him ever again in my life after my week is off so-- “They think I’m queer.”

“Oh,” he blinked, his eyes shot open.

“Yeah. I take it you understand that _I’m not_ , do you _Paul?_ Do you understand?”

“Yes, John,” he looked straight into my eyes. “I understand.”

“Good. Now, where did that human-elephant get struck?” I grumbled and begun to crumple my nightshirt into the ball.

“Erm, John?”

“What?” I looked at him.

“Hm… I just-- if you have something else to ask me, ask me now!” he blurted out the last sentence in one breath, “ ‘cause they give me those pills which make my thoughts fly up into the clouds. And I feel like I’m not really here and… that’s—“

Now that was something that really piqued my curiosity and the flow of random questions spurted out:

“What are those pills? Why they make you swallow them? Why are you here?”

“I—“

“Are you ready?” Stroud’s voice thundered behind the door.

“Just a minute!” I shouted back and lifted my eyebrow, gazing intently at Paul. “Yeah?”

“Long story,” he whispered and then added loudly. “Come in!”

The big nurse rolled into the room. The contrast between her body constitution and Paul’s was strikingly remarkable. Have they actually fed him in here?

She took us to the bathroom behind the glass-door where was a room for showering. We weren’t alone there: a guard was propping himself against the wall and somebodies were performing their morning ablutions.

Once inside the bathroom, Paul stood by the sink and started brushing his teeth while I promptly occupied the sink next to him before putting out my washing items from the sponge bag. Although it wasn’t the last sink in the room, I decided to stick close to Paul as for me he sounded and looked perfectly sane expect, of course, his skeleton body and dark circles under his big eyes. Those other patients… you can never know what stunt they can pull and -– for the first time in my life –- I wasn’t looking for trouble.

So I kept glancing at Paul and wondering about him.

Then a rigmarole has come.

The linen towels and combs… a blare of running water and a buzz of the electric razors… the laughing and grumbling… _‘Are you finished?’_ and _‘Hurry up’…_ the corridors and wide-opened glass doors… a large canteen and dozens of round tables… the stench of antiseptic and cooked beans… the tumult of voices and the clang of cutlery...

Everybody was looking at me with unmasked curiosity. A new psychopath has arrived.

The expressions on their faces horrified me and the urge to keep close to Paul awaked strongly in me. I followed him like a duckling would run after its mum and the realization of it made me deeply ashamed: a seventeen-year-old –- who’s almost officially an adult –- tags along after the teen-boy who’s twice smaller and thinner than his hanger-on.

In spite of that, it may come in handy to befriend him since there were a lot of guards and nurses monitoring peace and quiet so I obediently walked behind Paul.

He chose the table where a tall blond had been looking through the window. Paul sat down and stared astonishingly at me as he hadn’t been aware of me following after him. Then he recovered his composure and introduced me to the blond.

“Er… Liam, this is John. John – Liam. My new roommate.”

“Nice,” he mumbled and gave me an unfriendly look.

What was that? Who the fucker think he is?

I seated myself and focused on the blondie who was a lanky fella and had his cheeks as hollow as Paul’s and their eyes had the similar colour: brown.

 _(But wait, weren’t Paul’s eyes green after he’d woken up?)_ \-- anyway, to distinguish lads’ eyes is queer and I must put an end to this.

“Liam,” I crooked my lips. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” **

He rolled his eyes and I extended my hand, “C’mon blondie, shake it. The big folks are watching us.”

Although he was shooting daggers at me, he shook my hand anyway, trying to clutch my palm with all the force he had in his lean body but I was stronger than him so -- still holding the eye contact with him -- I squeezed his fingers tightly and Liam –- biting his bottom lip –- jerked his hand away.

“You nearly crushed my bones,” he hissed, rubbing his skin.

“You should’ve been more tactful,” I hissed back, peeping briefly at Paul.

Liam opened his mouth, apparently to stab me back with a reply, when two nurses with the trays came to us, saying good morning and putting the plates and cups of tea down the table.

“How are you feeling today?” the red-haired, middle-aged nurse asked Liam. “Have you been sick?”

“Well…” he started, glancing askew at me. “Just a little.”

The nurse shook her head, “Try to chew slowly, alright?”

“Alright, ma’am.”

“What about you, darling?” she addressed to Paul. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes… yes.” Paul tried to smile, looking dejectedly.

“And you must be John, right?”

“That’s right,” I smiled mildly.

“You were supposed to eat in a separate room but if it’s alright for you to be with the other boys then well – do you want to shift?”

“No, that’s fine for me. I have a company, you see.”

“That’s very good! Enjoy your meal then.”

“So,” I said when the nurses had left. “What was that about? Now, tell me your stories.”

“Too much honour,” Liam snapped. “Wanna hear our stories – start first.”

“Paul knows mine already but I still don’t know his. So who shall start? Paul? Liam?”

“Alright!” that was Liam. “I’ll start.”

“What a pleasure,” I smirked.

“I have a bulimia. The end.”

“What a nice story, fella!  Very exciting, really.”

“My pleasure. You?”

“I’m very aggressive. Or, and impolite. That’s important.”

“That’s it?” Liam goggled at me, obviously disbelieving me.

“That’s it. Ask Paul if ya don’t believe me.”

“Paul?”

“Er…” Paul stopped digging his beans with the fork and looked up. “Well, that’s what he told me.”

“Mmm,” Liam hummed, _chewing slowly_ his fried eggs. “I thought you very a maniac or something.”

“Oh, that’s funny, awfully funny, really. Haven’t you considered a career in comedy? You’ll earn millions, I tell ya.”

“I’ll consider it when I’m out of here but thank you anyway.”

“You’re most welcomed.”

The strained silence hovered over the table. Each of us was munching sullenly at the offered food. I was the first who talked.

“Paul? It’s your turn now.”

“Mm? Oh well, some shit happened,” he started, his head lowered. “My mum died, then my ex-girlfriend killed herself… and then her mother married my dad.”

My mouth fell agape, “This is some serious shit, mate.” I swallowed. “I’m sorry, Paul.”

“Yeah…” he looked up at me, “now you know.”

“I wish I hadn’t asked you,” I mumbled, sipping my tea gloomily. 

We didn’t speak much after that. Lately, I asked some questions about the interior order and how the things worked in here and it was Liam who’d answer my inquiries. 

When the breakfast was finished, the red-headed nurse came back and took me to the doctor’s office. 

***

“ _John?_ How do you find Paul?” the doctor asked me again.

I blinked a few times, focusing on the question.

“Well… he’s alright. Why?”

“I thought that you might have met him before.”

“Huh?”

Dr Bricks cleaned his throat and continued, “Well, I’ve noticed one interesting thing when I was checking your records. He and you both live around twenty minutes from each other.”

“Really? No, I’ve never met him before, doc. It’s not like all crazy people should stick together, you know.”

“You’re not crazy, both of you.”

“Pity, doc, since I’ve always thought that madness is the loftiest intelligence.” ***

“Well, John, I must say you’re very smart for your age. However, on behalf of psychology, I should say that intelligence is an ability to think clearly and be aware of your actions. Are you aware of your actions?”

“Yes, doctor. I mean, sometimes I can lose my temper but this happens to all living creatures, right?” I crossed my arms. 

“It depends how far your anger might range, son. Whether it’s a mild irritation or a furious rage.”

“In that case, everybody on the planet should be kept in an asylum, doc.”

“Excuse me, son, but I'm afraid our time is up. I have other patients, too. Let’s continue our conversation tomorrow, shall we?”

“Sure, doc.” I nodded and stood up.

***

The second time when I saw Paul again that day was during the lunchtime. The nurses had served me a separate table in the furthest corner of the canteen while Paul had been sitting at the same table next to the window with Liam and two other boys: a fatty and a four-eyes. Well, maybe it wasn’t fair to call somebody a four-eyes since I was blind as well, but I wasn’t the one in the glasses so it was alright.

Before the end of the mealtime, Nurse Stroud emerged (like an air balloon in the sky) and began to dispense medicine to the patients. She’d had the bottles of drugs placed on her tray along with the long checklist which she’d inspect every time before unscrewing the needful bottle and give the drugs to the correct boy. Some residents were receiving only one or two pills while the others –- like Paul –- a handful of them.

Speaking of Paul… Nurse Stroud had treated him differently and not in a good way.

Maybe I just haven’t noticed or paid much attention while observing the others… I wasn’t sure -– but it seemed that Paul was the only one whom the Big Nurse forced to open his mouth and show her that the drugs had been swallowed.    

When I’d seen it, I felt stunned. What… what was that about? Have I been mistaken and the boy was the craziest in the madhouse? Well, it was ridiculous even to think about but something definitely was wrong here.

_Why are you so interested in that boy, Lennon?_

Really, why?

I’ll be back home at the end of the week and today’s Tuesday and…

… and he lives twenty minutes from your house.

Have we ever bumped into each other somewhere in the streets and never been aware of it? Have we ridden the same bus or watched the same movie in the cinema? This was so strange but not uncommon. The world is a small village, eh?

I had two possibilities how to spend the rest of the day: hand out in the main hall with the loonies or get back to my room. Oddly enough, but I chose the first option.

Paul and Liam were nowhere to be seen so I headed straight away to the fellas who’d been playing cards. I stood over the table and laconically introduced myself:

“John Lennon, seventeen years old. The aggressive young lad,” I smirked and held out my hand, shaking it with everybody after they’d call their name.

“Larry Haley, sixteen, bipolar disorder.”

“Jimmy Fletcher, same age as Larry, alcohol abuse.”

“Todd Brice, your peer, conduct disorder,” he chuckled and waved his hand as an invitation for me to join the table so I seated myself. “It seems like we have the same illness, pal.”

“I have no idea… pal. I’m not a medic, am I?” I cocked an eyebrow. “What are you playing?”

“Gin rummy,” said Larry, shuffling the cards. “You in?”

“You bet.”  

“So who’s yer neighbour?” asked Jimmy.

“Eh? Oh, it’s Paul…er, McCartney or something,” I narrowed my eyes. “What d’you know ‘bout him?”

“Ah, just another nutty kid,” Todd snorted. “Had a few hysterics so far. That was quite a show. I’m tellin’ ya.”

“Really? What was the cause of it?”

“Who knows,” Todd said and the topic was over.

I don’t know how long we’ve played. We had a good chinwag and the fellas nearly doubled up when I’d mentioned my keen interest in the pretty nurse and whether or not she was easy; Larry and Jimmy were roaring with laughter and Todd was smiling smugly, not sure if I’d been serious or just messing about -- well, I hadn't been sure, either. 

Eventually, playing cards had made me bored me and I decided to return to my room.  

However, the sight, when I came back, made me almost dash back in the hall and my jaw dropped down.

Paul, who looked paler than ever before, had been sitting on the bed with his knees pulled up and his arms wrapped around them, rocking slowly back and forth, his eyes glassy and fixed on one spot.

Carefully, I got closer to him and unhurriedly waved my hand before his eyes. The boy didn’t react at all. And the more I stayed in the room with him, the more sinister it became inside of it.

I left the room and closed the door behind me.

* * *

 

 _This story is not fantastic…*_ \-- John reads ‘The Carpathian Castle’ by Jules Verne.

 _Liam…** --_ John cites Rick Blaine from Casablanca.

 _Pity, doc, since I’ve always…***_ \-- John cites Edgar Poe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. Have you ever watched Hideaways (2011)? Yup, this is where the image of Liam came from. And if you think about that the very same actor also played… Never mind! Ahaha!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not very fond of this chapter. I hope the next one would be better...

The hospital had three floors. The first one was used by the medical staff only and was some kind of reception for the new residents and parents. The second floor served as a dormitory with all the necessary adjacent rooms: the canteen and the kitchen, the bathrooms and the loos, the main hall for entertainment and for group therapy sessions, the first aid room, the laundry and other different rooms with the intended purposes. There were four sleeping sections with ten rooms in every division but it was hardly ever when all the rooms had at least one patient and with an unknown reason the boys were placed always in pairs and a lonely dweller was usually an exception. Therefore, the fourth section, as a rule, was mostly deserted. But what was the function of the last floor?

“A torture chamber,” Larry said over the dinner. “For lobotomy, electroconvulsive therapy and what not.”

“So why don’t ya still have a hole in yer thick forehead, huh?” I snapped, poking angrily with my fork at the steamed chicken that was a substitute for fish in kedgeree.

“Hey!”

“Don’t fight, boys,” Todd sniggered. “Larry, don’t you scary our newcomer.”

“He’s not scaring me, Todd. He’s bullshitting me.”

“Aye. But didn’t you piss yer knickers, Johnny?” 

_The nurses are watching, John. Do not overreact._

I smirked, “Forgot to wear any.”

The three of them cackled.

“It’s some sort of archives,” said Jimmy when he calmed down, “apparently for storing patients’ history records and such.”

“The whole floor?” I asked.

“Uh-huh, so?” Jimmy munched his chicken.

“Nowt,” I said, putting both my hands on the table and pushing myself backward on the chair to give the canteen a proper look. It seemed rather empty. Where have been the other patients?

The fellas were now engaged in the meaningless chat when I shot my next question.

“Where are the others? The patients, I mean.”

“Ah?” Todd turned his head to me. “Presumably they are not that hungry, pal.”

"Mmm-hm."

“I heard that sometimes the cook prepares them special meals,” he continued, “you know, to the headcases with eating disorders.”

“You heard?”

“Aye. It’s not like everybody in here’s as nosy as you. Like, honestly, what's it got to do with ya?”

“Just curious, that’s it. Why, aren’t you too?”

“Am most certainly not.”

“Right,” I crooked my lips. “Ignorance’s bliss, innit... _pal?”_

***

When I returned back to my sleeping room, a picture of Paul made me whizz out it and cry for a nurse. The small crowd had gathered in the passage, propping their backs against the wall and openly gaping at me or peeping furtively from the chinks of lamp-light from the bedroom doors.  Finally, the red-haired woman emerged in front of me, asking me softly what was the problem. I waved my hands and gave her some incoherent explanations before quickly leading her into the room and indicating at Paul who’d been swaying all this time since I left him like that, to put it mildly, because now his skin was sallow and shiny with sweat, his thin arms entwined tightly around his belly. The strands of his raven hair had stuck to his forehead and his eyes were black and empty with no hint of emotions.

The boy not only hadn’t had his bloody dinner but also been acting abnormally -- and nobody in the entire institution seemed to care a whit. What kind of hospital was that?! 

I was his roommate for fuck’s sake and I was terrified to spend a night with somebody in such a state.

The nurse shook him gently and asked how he was feeling

_(very good, thank you. The weather is great, isn’t it?)_

and of course, he said nothing but stared at her unseeingly until his eyes rolled back and his body trembled spasmodically.

The woman panicked and wanted to ask me something but at the same time Nurse Stroud appeared in the doorway and headed straight to Paul, pushing me aside from her way. She tried to bring Paul back to his senses by holding his chin with her fingers with an attempt to make somehow his foggy eyes focused on something.

But still, he looked drawn and resembled a rag doll, being dressed in his nightshirt.

The crowd of onlookers had been accumulating by now and it also attracted guard’s attention as well who was jostling the residents with the elbows, going in the direction of the obscure outburst of sudden tumult. He walked in the room just when Nurse Stroud was pulling Paul off the bed with her arms under his chest. The guard rushed towards the nurse and helped her to carry Paul out of the bedroom.

Unconsciously, I’d followed after them when somebody stopped me by putting a hand on my shoulder.

Liam.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” I answered slowly, my thoughts far away. "But he looked like a dopehead who hasn’t had a fix for too long."

I frowned at my own reply. Maybe indeed the boy was seriously ill? If so, why he’d been acting sane in the morning but turned crazy after he took the pills?

“That’s very bad,” Liam said. “They’ll dispatch him in the other long-stay hospital if something like it happens again.”

“What? Isn’t it a long-stay hospital as well?”

“What?” he chuckled. “’corse not. One boy in here’s being treated for stuttering and no effect. So eventually he’ll be sent home, sooner or later.”

***

I didn’t sleep well last night so now -- sitting in the doc’s office and waiting patiently for him to start talking again -- I was yawning occasionally. Today I didn’t have to do any more tests but to answer vocally Dr Bricks questions so he’d asked me about my family members and my relationships with them but this conversation hadn’t been long as I began to bombard him with questions considering psychology and medicine.

I yawned again and the doctor wondered if I wanted a cup of coffee.

“Seriously? Yes, please!  Although I thought the patients weren’t allowed to have some.”

“Well, in view of the fact that you’re not a patient, I don’t see why not.”

“Really? I’m not… a patient?”

“Yes, son” he smiled and adjusted the eyeglasses on his long nose. Then he made a telephone call, asking someone to bring a cup of coffee with (he looked at me and I quickly added) milk and honey. After that, the doctor continued, “I don’t know why somebody wanted to have you evaluated, given that you have a behaviour of a normal seventeen years old boy. On average, if there is something wrong, the first day is unusually enough to bring the necessary conclusions.”

Nurse Oswald came in and put the cup on the table before me without even asking whose coffee it was, “I know Dr Bricks loves it black and unsweetened, don’t you doctor?”

“That’s true,” he nodded. “How did you manage to brew it up so quickly?”

“It’s a professional secret, doctor.” She sent me a wink. “Anything else you want?..”

“Yes, Ms Oswald. Can you please share with us your opinion what do you think of this young man?”

“I think John is very nice and attentive. Especially, after what happened to his roommate yesterday…”  

“Is Paul alright?” I asked suddenly.

Dr Bricks and Ms Oswald both looked at me.

“Yes, son, he is,” the doctor said and then, after a while, inquired: “Do you want to pay him a visit?”

“Well,” I said, sipping my coffee. “Why not?”

***

Nurse Oswald led me to his ward. I was waiting for her outside to call me inside.  

I heard her speaking, telling Paul that he had a visitor.

 “A visitor?..” a weak voice asked.

The nurse came back and with a smile beckoned me inside the room where Paul was laying on the bed with his back propped against the pillows. There was an intravenous drip inserted into his left hand and a nasty, dark-cobalt bruise had formed around the needle. Although Paul was paler than before, all the greenish tints had gone, making his skin flawlessly white. His prominent big eyes on his sharp face seemed smaller by now as they had been hidden under the hooded lids above and the dark circles below.

The boy looked very drowsy as if he’d woken up just a few minutes before I walked in. There was an unpleasant stench of the cleaning agents and humid disinfection.

Suddenly, it’s all became too awkward for me to be in this room with Paul. I felt like I was the one who’d been disturbing his rest and making the things inconvenient for both of us.

Why on earth had I decided to come visit him in the first place, anyway? Hell, we hadn’t even had a proper talk so far, not to mention that we weren’t friends! What was the reason for my instant affection

_(affection?)_

for this skinny boy? It couldn’t have possibly been only the thing that he had been my roommate or that I’d seen him being sick. Perhaps, it was because we were practically neighbours in the outside world and somehow it had an effect on me, given that we weren’t complete strangers.

But we were.

God. It was complicated.

“Er. Hi.” I said eloquently.

“John? What… what are you doing here?”

“You scared me last night, mate.” I lowered my head, staring at the feet. “Thought you were gonna die.”

“Really? I don’t remember anything.”

“Yeah? Oh that’s—“ I briefly turned around and Nurse Oswald sent me a smile, “that’s not very good.”

“Indeed,” he answered, gloomy, but then the corners of his lips lifted slightly up. “Well, you’re alone in our room now so… don’t throw a bash without me.”

“Seriously?” What kind of bash should it be? A _Paul’s-half-way-to-the-grave_ bash? In that case, the party’s already a failure, mate.”  

“Well, at least it’s a half way,” he sighed heavily, “not one foot in.”

I knitted my eyebrows. What was he talking about?

“Er… I think I should prob’ly be going now. So, get better and—“

Somebody knocked on the door. Then the red-haired nurse peeked her head into the room and asked Nurse Oswald to step outside for a moment.

“John!” Paul exclaimed instantly when we were left alone. “Come here, quick!”  

“What? Why?” I was sincerely astounded to hear that request but Paul looked so lost and pleading and fragile so without delay, I walked closer to his bed.

He was gesturing for me to come closer and closer until I hovered over his bed. His slim fingers grabbed my arm, urging me to bend over him, my nose almost touching his hair, and then he whispered in my ear:

“Somebody gave me a shot yesterday when I—“

Paul never finished as the door slam-opened, making us both shudder. Immediately I jumped back to get away from him and, for a fleeting second, I felt my cheeks burning with an imperceptible sting.

“Look who’s here, Paul!” Nurse Oswald announced, returning back inside. “Your stepmother got a sudden impulse to pay you a visit! Isn’t it a pleasant surprise?!”

I had a dekko at Paul, seeing his eyes grow bigger, wandering around the room. His hazel eyes caught mine and I noticed unmistakably a ghost of fear in them. Was he afraid of... his stepmother?

No, that was ridiculous. Or…?

The woman in the polka-dot burst into the room with her lips wearing claret-coloured lipstick, her shoulder-length and dyed blonde.

Paul’s stepmum.

“Oh, my poor boy! The nurses told me everything what happened to you recently! Have you—“ she stopped abruptly and looked at me narrowly, trying to figure out my social role in the asylum, whether I was a staff member or another loony and since I’d been wearing the suitable outfit for bearing the title Nutter of St. Clemens there was no doubt about my position. “Are you Paul’s friend?”

“Well… I’m his roommate.”

“Oh, I see,” her lips broadened into a fake smile. “Excuse me, young man, I don’t want to seem mean but can I have a moment with my son? It’s been ages since our last time together, isn’t it, sonny?” As she said it, she moved towards Paul and squeezed his hand which had been receiving IV into the vein of his left arm. Paul whined and the woman released her hold. “Won’t you mind?” she looked at me again, pointing her chin at the door.

“Hm, sure. Alright,” I headed to the exit. “Er, Ms Oswald?” I asked the nurse, who’d been standing by the door the whole time. “Can a have a word with you outside?”

“Of course you can, John,” she smiled and then added when we went out of the room. “Something on your mind?”

“Well,” I looked around, seeing the nurses coming and going in the long passage. “Do you know what exactly happened to Paul?”

“Yes, John. It seems that—“

She went mute abruptly. Somebody yelped and Paul’s stepmother stormed out of the ward, claiming that her son had tried to attack her.  


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: this chapter contains unpleasant content. Think twice before you read.

The woman kept crying: ‘he attacked me, oh god, oh god… my stepson wanted to hurt me!’ repeating it over and over again like a mantra, causing a complete bedlam in this department of the hospital, and it seemed that everyone -- who had witnessed the epicentre of the screaming –- had abandoned their duties and willingly participated in the overall commotion of tramping and scuttering around the place with no specific point of destination.  

At least three nurses bustled into Paul’s ward when Oswald grabbed me by the hand with an attempt to take me away from the chaotic scene. I managed to catch the last peep into the room, seeing Paul’s big, frightened eyes and the red-headed nurse changing something in the IV stand before someone closed the door and pushed me away. It was unknown to me middle-aged guard who had clasped my hand and helped the nice nurse to lead me away.

“Let’s go, John,” Oswald said. “You don’t have to see it.”

“See what?” like in a dream, feeling slightly dizzy, I turned my head back and sighted Paul’s stepmother covering her face with the palms and some nurse calming her down.

“Nothing. Just let me take you to your room please.”

“Er… sure,” I said and she nodded to the guard who unclenched his fingers around my upper arm and let me go. “Do you know what happened?”

“I know as much as you, John. Now, let’s get away from here.”

***

“Fuck,” I cursed under my breath and lay down on the bed, my hands folded behind my head, eyes fixed on the ceiling and my thoughts were boiling with confusion.

My roommate wasn’t a loony, or was he? The doctor had confirmed it. Paul had this nervous breakdown over those fucked-up events that’d happened in his life, right? 

There were two questions:  _why did Paul’s girlfriend kill herself and why her mother married the man whose son was involved in her daughter’s suicide?_  And those unanswered questions led to the next ones:  _was Paul really involved in his girlfriend’s death and what was the reason for it? Did he dump her and she just couldn’t get over it? Did her mother meet Paul’s dad before or after the accident? Or even -– was his dad aware of it? If so, why he’d marry the woman whose daughter was dating (fucking?) with his own son?_

There were plenty of obscure and knotty questions but one thing was sure: the McCartney family was full of freakish secrets.

To summarize: Paul’s dead ex-girlfriend’s mother had married his father and an hour ago she accused her stepson of trying to attack her.

Attack her how? By trying to choke her with those tremulous fingers of his? Or by trying to smack her with the arm inserted to the IV?

Something didn’t fit right in this picture. One of them was lying – but who?

Paul said that someone had given him an injection when he…  _what?_  When he’d been under the drugs? So what? Wasn’t it a part of his treatment here? Why did he say this to me in the first place, anyway? What could he possibly want from me?

I wasn’t his guardian angel, for fuck’s sake!

***

The next day Paul didn’t show up at breakfast which wasn’t surprising at all. And as for me, Dr Bricks didn’t have a normal session with me in his office, instead he took me to the garden that was located behind the hospital. We strolled around there a bit and he showed me and named the flowers which were blossoming at the time.

“I know these ones,” I nodded at the flowers with the blue petals. “My aunt loves them.”

“Those are hydrangeas.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“It’s good that you reminded me of her,” the doctor said. “Your aunt called here yesterday.”

I was silent so he continued.

“She asked how you were doing and when you’d be released from the hospital.”

“And what did you say?”

“I said, ‘Mrs Smith, John’s doing great and he’ll probably get back home this Sunday.’ She was very glad to hear it.”

And today was Thursday. So I had two more days ahead of me in this place.

“That’s fantastic, doc!” I exclaimed. “Thank you, sir.”

We sat on the bench, surrounded by the sunflowers, and in front of it, there was an artificial pond with the colourful fishes swimming in it. We looked at them for a little while before I blurted out something that had been hunting me during the night and until this very moment, “Do you really think that Paul attacked his stepmother?”

“Yes, John,” he said after a pause. “What about you?”

“Well, I don’t know. I mean, he was so weak when it happened and his stepmother is a strong woman. I don’t think he could’ve possible do any harm to her. And again: why should he?”

“Paul’s taking powerful drugs, John. Sometimes they make a person feel fuddled and disorientated.”

“But I talked to him that day and he sounded absolutely clear-headed and alright to me.”

The doctor heaved a heavy sigh and continued: “What do you have in mind, son? Are you assuming that Paul’s stepmother lied to the medical workers?”

“I’m just thinking, doc. I’m not assuming anything.”

***

I was having lunch at the table with Todd, Larry and Jimmy. I actually wanted to sit with Liam and ask him something about Paul but the chairs around his table had all been occupied and there was no space to fit in another chair.

“I’m going home next week,” Jimmy said proudly. “I’m going home!”

“Congrats, Jimmy,” said Larry and lifted his cup of tea as if he wanted to make a toast. “Let’s—”

His voice suddenly faded along with snatches of other conversations in the canteen and silence hung in the air. Everybody was staring at something that was behind me.

I turned my head back and saw Paul accompanied by Nurse Stroud who held a tray of the scarce meal and pills lying in a pile on the saucer. The nurse put the tray on the empty table and helped him slowly sat on the chair. She asked him something and Paul nodded at that. Then she left him alone.

“Look at that nasty bruise on his arm,” Larry whispered; and the other muffled comments were murmured from all the corners in the dining room.

I frowned at his words. Paul was wearing a black t-shirt and his bare hands were left for the world to see. The contrast of the dark fabric and his pallid skin made his bruise seemed even more harrowing than it really was. Paul still looked groggy and yet much better from the last time when I saw him. He lowered his chin and took a spoon before plunging it into his yogurt. 

The hum of low voices arose with a renew force but quickly waned as I stood up and headed towards Paul’s table, leaving my unfished meal behind. The food was shite, at any rate.

A sound of moving chair thundered through the canteen, giving a sharp clang of metallic legs sliding against the tiled floor. He instantly looked up at me, amazed and baffled, a spoonful of yogurt froze in his hand before his opened mouth.

I sat in front of him and only then he wrapped his lips around the spoon and ate his yogurt. I didn’t say the word, he neither – and nor did anybody else inside.

Someone coughed and the conversations were resumed.

“What are you doing?” Paul muttered in an accusing voice but the corners of his lips lifted up.

“Just saying hi to my roommate,” I shrugged my shoulders. “What, isn’t it common here?”

“Er, no. Not really.”

“And people say it’s me who’s impolite,” I rolled my eyes in a joking manner.

“Well, hi to you too, then.” Paul ate another spoonful. “So how was the bash?”

“Crap,” I played along. “Nobody came.”

“Too bad.”

“Yeah, you can say that,” I fell silent for a second. “Paul?”

“Yes?”

“What happened yesterday?”

He narrowed his eyes, “What do you care?”

“Yeah, right. Sorry to bother you—“ I put my hands on the table and lifted my arse from the chair in an attempt to stand up when Paul uttered:

“I’m just a loony.”

I flopped back on my arse, “No, you’re not.”

“My stepmother hates me – no – she despises me,” he sighed. “And she wants to keep me in the loony bin forever.”

“But what about… you didn’t try to?..”

“No. She made it up.”

“But why?”

“I’ve told you already.”

I blinked. My mind was slowly digesting his words while Paul continued:

“I’ve been dating her daughter Peggy. I took her virginity and she thought that I’d marry her right after we finish school,” he paused and sipped his tea. “I broke up with her. And…you know the rest.”   

“She should’ve been locked in here. Not you.”

Paul stared at me for a few seconds, a sad glimmer reflected in his eyes.

“I should’ve known better.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” he finished his yogurt and put it away, his hand reached for the bowl of oatmeal. “She was so… puritanical, you know, but also very pretty.”

“Was she your first?”

“Mm? Oh, no,” he chuckled. “Second.”

“A scanty experience, mate.”

“What?” Paul cocked an eyebrow. “You wanna talk about my sex life?”

“Oh!” I crooked my lips. “Yes, please! It must be really adventurous, innit?”

“Sod off.”

“I was fourteen and it happened in a graveyard.”

“How very romantic.”

“Yes. And she—“ I shut up and stopped telling my exciting story as Nurse Stroud came to our table. “Good afternoon, ma’am. Can I please ask you for a glass of water?”

She approved my request and left again.

“Paul,” I started quickly. “You said somebody gave you a shot when you what?”

He sighed, “When I was dosed heavily with sedatives. Somehow I managed to remember it.”

“Isn’t it a normal practice here?”

“No, John. Just the opposite.”

We both fell silent. Then I bent over the table a little bit closer to him.

“Are you sure about it?”

“Absolutely. And it wasn’t the first time, either, I think.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” I leaned back. “And why’d you tell me about that injection in the first place, eh?”

“You visited me,” he shrugged. “And I told you just in case I forgot it so you’d remind me sooner or later.”

“You were so sure that I’d remind you?”

A trace of a smile touched his mouth, “You ask too many questions, John.”

The nurse came back and handed me a glass.

“Thank you,” I said and took a small sip of the water, pretending to drink.

“Have you finished your meal yet?” she addressed to Paul.

“Er, yeah. I think so,” he said, though his bowl wasn’t totally empty.

“Take your tablets then.”

Paul nodded and slowly began swallowing his pills, one by one, wrinkling his nose after every sip of water. When he finished, Nurse Stroud asked him to open his mouth and press his tongue against the palate to check that there was nothing under his tongue.

Then she took his half-full bowl and walked away.

“Here,” I said. “Finish my drink.”

“Eh? Why?”

“Because the sky is blue,” I heaved a sigh. “Drink, Macca, it will do you good.”

“Macca?” he arched an eyebrow.

“You’re McCartney, right?”

“Well, yes.”

“So Macca then,” I winked and moved the glass towards him. For a few seconds, he stared suspiciously at the glass and then at me but drank the water anyway. “Yeah, Macca, to the last drop of it.”

He choked on his water and wide-opened his eyes, a blush coloured his pale cheeks.

“Easy, boy.”

“You twat! Have you deliberately pronounced it with such a smutty voice while I was drinking your bloody water?”

“Have I?” I batted my eyelashes and heard Paul laughing for the first time. The burst of laughter made his cheeks redden to a brighter shade, giving them a healthy tint. He certainly should laugh more and turn it into an obligating part of his recovery. “Now, follow me to the loo next to our sleeping room in five minutes, alright?”

“Why? You wanna ravish me?”

“You, huh? A skeleton?” I chuckled. “No, thank you. You’re too skinny for my liking.”

“Er, right,” he said carefully. “But why again?”

“Just do as I tell you, alright?” I stood up. “Five minutes, the loo.”

“Alright,” he nodded and I headed to the toilets, sneaking the glass and shoving it under the hem of my trousers.

***

“What took you so long?” I asked in an accusing tone, propping my body with my hands against the sink.

“The obstacles in the face of the nurses.”

“I see,” I said and deftly pulled out the glass behind my back which I'd held all the time with one of my finger pressing it against the cast-iron surface of the sink. “Do you know what to do with it?”

“Erm, I may be wrong but I think we use this thing to fill it with some liquid and then drink it up?”

“Brilliant, son,” I turned around and poured the glass with the tap water. Then I handed it to Paul. “Let’s get that shit out of your stomach if it isn't too late and the pills haven’t worked yet.”

He goggled at me, biting on his thumb nail.

“Hurry up, Paul. Someone might come in.”

“Why are you doing this? Why do you wanna help me?”

“Because we live twenty minutes from each other back in the outside world,” I sighed. “Is it a good enough reason for you?”  

“What? How d—“

“Later,” I passed him the glass. “Don’t waste time.”

He took it and looked at me with those big, full of doubt eyes as if he was waiting for an approval on my part. I nodded and gave him a reassuring smile. He smiled back, hesitant, and started to gulp the water.

When he finished, he gave me back the glass and I filled it once again.

“I think it will do,” I said when he drank the third glass. “Now, get into the cubicle and throw it all up.”

“But I’m not feeling sick now. I don't think I’d make it, you know, I can't self-induce vomiting.”

“Come on, Macca. Just put two of your finger inside your mouth and finger the back of your throat so it’ll trigger your gag reflex.”

“Your words make me wanna vomit already.”

“Good.”

And then Paul gave me one more uncertain look and washed his hands before walking into the cubicle and closing the door behind him.

I leaned against the sink again, hearing the revolting sounds coming from the closed door when suddenly it all stopped and Paul walked out, looking despondent.

“I can’t do it, John. I can’t puke when I’m not sick, I told you so.”

“Try to finger yourself harder. The back of your throat, I mean.”

Paul emitted a tired groan and walked in again.

“So?” I asked after a while. “How’s going there?”

“Nothing,” he growled, his voice trembling. “It won’t come out of me.”

Reluctantly, I said: “Do you want me to help you?”

“How?”

I sighed, “Can I come in?”

“… yes.”

I opened the door and saw Paul kneeling in front of the toilet. He glanced up at me, the tears welled up in his eyes, his hair ruffled.

“How?” he repeated weakly.

“I’m gonna put my fingers into your mouth. It’ll work immediately, I’m telling you.”     

“Alright,” he agreed after some torturing seconds of pondering. “Wash your hands first.”

“Wh—yeah, sure.”

I did as he told me and returned back to him.

“Alright,” I said. “I’m gonna straddle you so put one of your hand against the toilet and straighten your back upright, got it?”

“What if someone comes in and sees us like that?

“Then we’ll get into trouble,” I answered frankly.

He mulled over it once more before saying: “Let’s get over with it then.”

I hummed in agreement and placed my legs on either side of him, my left hand around his chest and the other -– two fingers pressed together –- was ready to start.

“It’s disgusting,” Paul whined. 

“It is,” I agreed. “You ready?”

He nodded and with a swift movement I impaled my fingers deep into his throat; then rapidly pulled them out before Paul shook and arched his back, finally emptying his stomach.

“You can do the rest without me now,” I said and gave him an awkward pat on his back before walking out and leaving him alone to do the deed.

The nauseous sounds filled the room so I turned the tap on and the running water slightly masked the noise coming from Paul’s cubicle.

“Do you need any more water?” I asked him after some time.

“NO!”

“Er… fine.”

When all was done, Paul emerged from the door, wiping his lips and heading towards the opened tap. He rinsed his mouth and freshened up, washing every bit of his face.

At last, he turned the tap off and stared at me intently as if expecting me to say something.

“Well… you alright?”

He nodded.

“Right then,” I said. “Let’s get back to our room. I think we need to talk.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

There were so many questions I wanted to ask Paul but I didn’t know how to start and it seemed that all the right words had escaped from my mind, turning me dumb to form any appropriate sentence.

Should I ask him if he’s alright? But of course, he’s not so what's the use in asking?

Fortunately, it was Paul who began the conversation.

“So, you say, we’re neighbours in the outside world?” he asked, lying on his bed in our sleeping room.

“Mm-hmm,” I replied, lounging about on my own bed opposite Paul’s and staring at the ceiling. “I live on Menlove Ave, you?”

“Forthlin Road,” he answered and fell quiet, stealing an askew glance at me as if he’d been brooding on something too cranky to say it aloud. Was he thinking about the same things as me when I too had discovered it unexpectedly from the doctor? Was he wondering if he’d seen me once on the streets? Was he—“I think I’ve seen you before.”

I turned my head and gazed at him in astonishment, catching his eyes, but he quickly looked up at the wall, “What?”

“Mm… I once saw a lad like you with an aquiline nose who’d been riding on the bus, well-- actually, _on the roof_ of the bus, to be precise,” Paul chuckled. “And I think it could’ve been you.”

“Well, it could’ve definitely been me,” I run my fingers through my hair. “But I usually didn’t make it alone.”

“With a blond lad, you mean?”

It was stupid and didn’t make sense but my heart beat faster at his words. Paul had really seen me before and somehow it made me feel… _safe?_ No, it couldn’t be it… it was just a funny coincidence and nothing else.

I lay on my side and propped my head with the hand, fixing my gaze on Paul. “His name’s Pete.”

“Oh… so it was you then,” he looked at me and something glimpsed in his eyes. “You should’ve met me before the hospital. I was so chubby back then, you’d like me better.”

“Huh?”

For a second Paul seemed dismayed; he added quickly, “You mentioned you didn’t like skinny boys. I was just joking.”

“No, I got that,” I uttered. “It’s just I can’t imagine you being all podgy and chubby-cheeked.”

“I have photos to proof. But no one should ever see them,” he smiled and then, in a flash, became serious. “At any rate, I’d like to thank you, John. You don’t know what’s like... to feel like a vegetable. You can’t even imagine how good it is to have a clear mind once in a while,” Paul paused. “Thank you, John.”

“No problem,” I swallowed. “Paul?”

“Yes?”

“How long you’ve been here?”

“About four months,” he answered instantly.

“It’s a strange feeling, isn’t it?” I pondered and Paul narrowed his eyes, gazing in wonder at me. “I mean, four months is a short time for anything you want to do –- like to learn how to play guitar -- but also it’s too long when you’re stuck at something and you can’t get rid of it or get out,” I paused. “Do you understand what I’m talking about?”

“I guess so,” he said after a while. “That’s exactly how I feel. I still think I’m new here but at the same time if I stay here a little bit longer, they gonna send me to a permanent hospital.”

“What does the doctor say?”

“He says that I’m very unstable to be released in the real world and I can harm myself or people around me.”

“Have you said him about your stepmother? About yesterday, I mean.”

“Not yet,” he sighed. “But even if I did, he wouldn’t believe me.”

“What about your father?”

“What about him?”

“Why did he marry that woman?”

“Well,” Paul smiled bitterly and sat up; I mirrored him. “You wouldn’t believe it.”

“No harm in trying, right?”

“Right... Well, she’d been chasing him for months, threatened him even that she’d go to the rozzers and accuse me of incitement to suicide,” Paul mulled over something and then continued: “And, well-- she'd been sending my dad those barmy letters and nonsensical objects...”

I squinted my eyes, “Objects?”

“Yeah… like a book with half of the pages being ripped off or a box with cat’s food in it.”

I couldn’t help but smirk. Paul noticed it and frowned.

“Sorry,” I apologized. “What a crazy woman your stepmum is.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I said I’m sorry, alright?” I muttered. “What happened next?”

“Next she sent my dad a report on me and said that the whole Liverpool would know what I’d done. My dad wrote her back and asked what did she want. She said he should marry her because _she’s a lonely woman who has nobody in the world after her daughter’s death_ which was a lie ‘cause he has a big family, anyroad. So then my father felt pity for her and invited her to our house for a dinner.”

“Shit.”

“Mm-hmm,” Paul hummed. “Then she regularly started coming to see my dad, preparing him meals and washing the house, and such and such. So eventually he gave up and married her… and she tore off that report, of course, that she’d been carrying in her handbag every time she came to our house.”

“That’s just sick,” I swallowed a lump in my throat. “But how eventually did you get in here?”

He didn’t reply, instead he observed me closely before he turned around on his back and fixed his eyes on the ceiling, “Sorry, John, but I don’t wanna talk about it,” he said, reserved. “Not now, at least.”

I fell silent. I didn’t want to cross the line with Paul but my spirit of enquiry was greater –- even boundless –- from a sense of moderation to prevent me from being inquisitive.

“Can I ask you something else then?”

“Yeah?” he looked at me again.

“About your girlfriend…” suddenly, I didn’t feel so confident as a second before to ask him my next question.

“Yeah?” he repeated, sounding tired.

I inhaled and asked the next sentence in one breath: “Did you fuck her and ditch her?”

“Oh, well…” he seemed perplexed, “I didn’t mind her being my girlfriend, did I?” he bit his bottom lip. “But – fuck… she even started to dream up the names of our future kids, John! I really freaked out, believe me.”

His words made me sprang to my feet and came to his bed. I hovered over him and studied his face.

“I believe you, Paul,” I said, trying to sound calm. “Every lad would’ve done the same thing as you. Fuck, I would’ve run out on her, I swear you!”

Paul gazed at me with a glimmer of curiosity along with a modicum of sadness in his eyes. He looked so fragile now, with those big doe-eyes, framed with the thick eyelashes, and tousled black hair splayed out on the pillow.  

It was getting darker outside the window, and the first switched-on street lamps cast the beams of artificial light inside our dim room, making the shadows dance on the walls, illuminating Paul’s pallid face.

He flatted his eyelids and said quietly, “What should I say? I don’t know.”

“Then don’t say anything,” I lay back on my bed.  

We stayed like that for some time, each of us deep in the thoughts. For some reason, it felt so familiar and easy not only to speak with him but also to stay quiet. I didn’t have to pretend to be someone else and it was fucking amazing.

“Do you know when you’re coming back home yet?” Paul asked out of blue.

“Er…yes. This Sunday.”

“Oh, pity,” he turned his head, a wretched smile on his lips, “I used to like your company so far.”

“Don’t be sad, Macca,” I grinned, “I’ll write letters to you: to the Poppermost Loony of the St. Clemens Hospital!”

“I’ll show you _‘poppermost’_ , you twit!” Paul threatened me and threw his pillow at me… which hit me right on my face.

“Oi, that was unfair! I was unarmed, you daft git,” I said and put his pillow under my head. “But thanks for the pillow, mate. One is clearly not enough here.”

“Mm, alright. You’re going home on Sunday, at any rate, so it’s not long till I’ll get that pillow back.”

I don’t know why but his reply made me feel angry. What was he implying?

“’ave ye focking pillow back!” a Scouser awakened in me and I threw the pillow back to him, never looking at the target.

I heard Paul whine. I looked at him and frowned immediately, seeing Paul stroking his bruise lightly with his fingertips.

“Oh!” I exclaimed and sat quickly. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, it’s alright.”

“Let me see,” I stood up and without hearing permission or even reply, I clasped his hand around the wrist –- which was so slim that my thumb overlapped my middle finger -- and took a close look at his dark-purple bruise.

“It looks awful, mate.”

“I know.”

Then I blurted something that Paul didn’t mean to hear at all, “Why is your skin so cold?”

He arched his eyebrows and looked up at me, “What?”

At once I dropped his hand, feeling my cheeks getting warmer.

“Nothing,” I said almost inaudibly and walked backwards to my bed, flopping on it.

“My skin’s cold because I’m cold, isn’t it obvious?”

“You’re cold?”

Oh god. I felt so dense.

“Erm…” he stared at me like I was an idiot, “…yes.”

I swallowed a dry clod inside my throat, “This room’s too small for two people. I need some air.”

Without delay, I darted to the door and stormed out of the room.

I needed to collect my thoughts before I said –-  _or did_ \-- something I’d regret later.

***

When I returned back to the sleeping room, I found Paul sitting on the bed cross-legged with a notebook in his arms.

“What are you scribbling?” I asked, leaning against the door frame.

“Nothing,” he gave me an awkward smile and put the notebook under his mattress. Then he looked at me intently, waiting for my next words.

“It’s time for dinner. Are you coming?”

“You bet,” he winked. “I’m starving.”

“And I have no doubt about it,” I sighed. “Alright, move your bony arse.”

The canteen had already been half-full when we walked inside it. I detected an empty table and headed towards it, noticing then Paul wasn’t following me.

“You coming or what?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Er,” he hesitated. “I actually wanted to join Liam tonight.”

“Why?”

Paul shrugged his shoulders, “Haven’t spoken for a while with him, now have I?”

“Fuck him,” I rumbled. _And fuck you,_ I wanted to add but swiftly controlled myself. 

Paul heaved a heavy sigh, probably more than a little exaggerated, but followed me anyway.

Today for dinner were mashed potatoes and fried fish. I looked around the canteen: everybody’d been glancing at us on and off and yet it didn’t stop me to divide my meal by half _(or three-quarters, to be honest)_ and place the bigger part of it on Paul’s plate.  

“What are y—“

“Shh.”

“John,” he hissed. “Take it back.”

“Have you seen yourself in the mirror recently?”

“I’m not your—“

“Who?” I deadpanned.

He bit his lip, “… your younger brother or something!”

“Macca,” I sighed. “Shut up and guzzle your food, will you?”

“You’re mad,” he accused me but there was a grin on his face.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “You too.”

In silence, he started to nibble at his food, peeping on me from time to time through his long thick eyelashes. Meanwhile, I stared openly at him, torturing myself with the disturbing and uneasy thoughts. 

_What the fuck I was doing?_

***

“You don’t attend dinners regularly, do you?” I asked Paul when we came back to our room.

“Yeah, you can say that.”

“And what, the nurses just don’t give a shit about that?”

“Well,” Paul scratched his head, searching for something in the room. “Let’s say, everybody minds their own business.”

“Isn’t it their business to take care of the patients?” I observed Paul with curiosity. “What are you seeking for?”

“Ah, my sponge bag,” he murmured. “Where the hell is it?” as he said it, he got on his knees and looked under the bed. “Oh, just great!”

I crooked my lips when I saw him lying on his stomach and trying to get the lost bag from under the bed.

“Need any help?”

“Nah,” he stood up, holding a dusty bag. “Alright, I’m off to take a shower.”

I opened my mouth to answer when somebody quietly knocked on the door.

It was the nice nurse.

“Paul?” she asked gently. “How are you feeling?”

He didn’t reply at once and seemed as he didn’t know how to answer.

“I’m alright,” he said, finally.

“Don’t you feel sleepy?” the nurse sounded concerned. At least, there was one nurse in the whole damn place who cared about her patients.

“Well, a little,” he hesitated.

“You’re making a progress, I must say. The doctor would be very glad to know about it,” she smiled. “And it’s very good that you’re not sleeping yet, young man, seeing that you have two visitors waiting for you outside the door.”

“T-two visitors?” Paul goggled at her.

“Yes,” she winked and opened the door, inviting them to come in.

And then a boy, who seemed to be Paul’s peer, with ruffled hair and a grin on his face, bustled into the room and grabbed Paul in a bear hug.

“Hullo, Paulie!” he exclaimed. “You alright?”

“George,” Paul breathed out. “Let me go… you git… you're choking me.”


	6. Chapter 6

“George,” Paul breathed out. “Let me go… you git… you’re chocking me.”

“Sorry,” the lad who appeared to be George was smiling from ear to ear, crushing Paul’s slim body in a strong embrace. At last, he loosened his tight grip and let Paul go. “It’s just-- you’re still alive!” he exclaimed and hugged Paul again.

“Geo-orge,” Paul gasped, being clutched again.

“Georgie, don’t suffocate your friend,” said the middle-aged woman -– another visitor -– who was observing the scene with a smile on her face.

“Mrs Harrison,” Paul grinned when he was finally free. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon! George wrote in his last letter that you weren't gonna visit me until next week.”

“I know, darling,” the woman said. “I’ve discussed it with George that it’s not very appropriate to pay somebody a visit without letting them know first. But yesterday George told me what happened and persuaded me to come and see you.”

“You know?..” Paul looked at George, his cheeks gained in colour.

“Mike phoned me,” George said. “Don’t be mad at him.”

Paul didn’t respond. Instead, he lowered his eyelashes and his face saddened immediately.

“I see you have a new roommate,” Mrs Harrison said, looking at me with a smile.

“Yes,” Paul nodded. “His name’s—”

“John,” I replied for myself. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, John. I’m Mrs Harrison, mother of this young man,” she gestured at her son.

“I’m George,” the boy said. “How d’you do?”

I bit the inside of my cheek to stifle the upcoming laughter. Did the boy deliberately want to sound posh?

“Hi.”

There was a silence for a moment before Mrs Harrison exclaimed: “Oh dear! Paul! You look so thin! And I thought my son was a bag of bones!”

“Mum!”

“Look what I’ve got for you,” she continued and took two chocolate bars from her handbag. “It’s from both of us, George and me.”

“Mrs Harrison… you didn’t have to. I’m fine, really.”

“Hush,” she put the chocolates on Paul’s bedside table. “It’s nothing, dear.”

“Thank you, ma’am… and George.”

“Cheeky,” George smirked.

“Paul,” Mrs Harrison started morosely. “What is that bruise?”

“Oh…” he looked at it. “It’s…well. It’s from yesterday. The nurses inserted me an IV.”

The woman pursed her lips and something blinked in her eyes, “Excuse me, boys, I need to have a few words with the doctor.”

“Mrs Harrison…”

She put her hand on the door handle and gave Paul a comforting smile, “Everything is going to be fine, my dear.”

When she left, George immediately attacked Paul with tons of questions, neverminding my presence in the room. I felt uncomfortable being the witness of the conversation while not knowing what it was about. I was about to open my mouth and ask if I should leave but then George had said something that caught my attention.

“I’ve learned a lot of new chords,” he boasted. “Now I play better than you.”

“Don’t be so full of yourself, Harrison,” Paul cocked an eyebrow. “Just wait till I’m out of here.”

George wanted to respond when I unabashedly cut in:

“You two play the guitar?”

They both turned their heads at me as if they’d finally realized they weren’t alone in the room.

“Yes,” Paul said. “You too?”

“Yeah,” I lied. I played so poorly that it couldn’t be justified to be called ‘playing’ –- more like plucking the strings. “Are you any good?”

“Paul’s great,” George grinned. “He’s a leftie and he can play with both of his hands. I mean, he can turn the guitar upside down and play as good as the other way around.”

“Really?” I gazed at Paul. “What can you play?”

“Well,” he smiled, lifting up his chin. “A few songs of Elvis, Eddie Cochran, Little Richard… you know. I mostly play rock ‘n’ roll music.”

“You’re shitting me, right?” my eyes turned into two small saucers.

“Why would I?”

_‘cause you’re younger than me and I can only play decently two or three banjo chords._

“Well, I don’t know -– to impress me, prob’ly,” I shrugged my shoulders.

“What?” he chuckled. “Any particular reason?”

“Aye,” I nodded. “I have a band, you see.”

“You have a band?!” George exclaimed. “Can I join it?”

“George…” Paul crooked the corners of his lips.  

“What?” he raised an eyebrow at Paul and then turned to me: “When are you out of here?”

“This Sunday.”

“Oh!” George’s eyes became wider. “So, can I?”

“You’re too small,” I chuckled. “How old are you, twelve?”

“’ey! I’m just a little bit younger than Paul, s’all.”

“Mm… right.”

There was a knock on the door and then Mrs Harrison went inside. She excused herself and said that the nurse had asked them -- her and George –- to leave as it was getting late and the sleeping time was approaching; so they had only about ten minutes to speak with Paul.

Then she asked me softly to walk out of the room and give them some private time together. I nodded and closed the door behind me, waiting patiently outside.

I didn’t mean to earwig but I overheard everything that they were talking about.

The subject of their conversation was about Paul’s tough relationship with his father. Mrs Harrison mentioned that she’d visited Paul’s dad several times already and begged him to be Paul’s guest or at least write him a letter but Jim McCartney was adamant in his decision to ignore his son. It turned out that Paul had a younger brother -– the mentioned Mike –- who wasn’t allowed to keep in touch with Paul so George was the only thread that connected Paul with the real world.

***

Later that night, when Paul returned from the bathroom, dressed in the nightshirt, I’d already been lying in the bed under the covers, pretending to read a book.

The room was engulfed in silence until I heard the rustling sound of the foil paper.  

“Do you want some?” Paul suddenly asked. I looked at him and saw him sitting cross-legged on his bed with a chocolate bar in his lap.

“Thanks, I’m not hungry,” I responded, focusing my eyes again on the page.

“Yes, you are,” he muttered and passed me a half of his chocolate.

“Paul… no. Really,” as I said it, my stomach betrayed me and revealed my lie with the sound of a howling whale during the mating period.  

Paul smirked and shook his head before placing the offered treat on my bedside table.

“Eat ‘till it melts.”

I narrowed my eyes, “You’re a twat, you know that?”

“Mm,” Paul broke a piece of the chocolate and put it into his mouth. “I didn’t know that,” he answered, trying to look and sound serious but a glimmer of mischief in his eyes gave him away.

Before long, I cackled with laughter and Paul joined me too.

What happened next? Well, I didn’t get much sleep that night since I’d been speaking with Paul till the dawn broke in the morning sky. However, the little time that left to sleep had trapped me into the obscure dream -- the dream too fanciful to be real and yet I couldn’t remember if it had actually happened or not.  

***

_My math teacher had asked me to stay after the class. Reluctantly I stayed and now I was sitting at the desk next to Mr Campbell who was showing me my last failed tests. And he was rumbling… rumbling forth, back and out. Repeating those meaningless words, chiding and rebuking me for my sloppy work._

_The classroom didn’t look familiar. There was only one desk and everything was white inside: the walls and the floor. Were there any windows? I couldn’t recall it._

_Something clutched my knee. It felt like a crab would claw its pray: a worm._

_My head was spinning around and my eyes were blurred with a haze of unbearable light._

_Why was it so bright inside if there were no windows?_

_The claw was now moving higher and higher, clasping my thigh, coming back to my knee, working its way back higher and higher and higher…_

_***_

I fell to the floor and the thud of my body awoke Paul from his sleep, too. He sat up abruptly, looking alarmed and disorientated.

“What…” he rubbed his eyes. “John. What are you doing on the floor?”

“Busking in the sunlight, can’t you see?” I muttered and stood up, patting my back with one hand.

“Did you have a nightmare?”

“Yes. No. Sort of,” I lay back on the bed. “Those fucking tiny beds…”

“I always have nightmares after I take pills. And sometimes they seem so real that I want to shoot myself in the dream just to stop the ordeal.”

“That’s…” I didn’t know what to say. “What kind of dreams?”

“I usually don’t remember them in the morning,” he yawned. “But today I slept like a baby and didn’t have any.”

“Mmm… I want to sleep so badly. Can I stay in bed for the whole day?”

“No. You don’t want to provoke the nurses, do you?”

“Hm,” I closed my heavy eyelids. “I can’t be arsed.”

“We prob’ly have two or so hours before getting up,” he said almost inaudibly. “But you can still sleep a little bit more, Johnny.”

“Mmm,” I hummed and fell back in the arms of Morpheus.

***

“Is there something wrong with me body?” Paul asked, undressed, in the middle of changing his night clothes.

“Huh?” I felt nonplussed but never bothered to turn my head away or even blink to save my fading reputation. “Er, no.” I cleared my throat. “You actually look fine.”

Paul cocked an eyebrow, standing naked and unmoved.

“I mean, you don’t resemble a corpse this morning, that’s all,” I swallowed again. “Eating does you good.”

“Mm,” he gave me a suspicious glance before pulling the pants up his legs. “John?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you help me again? With, er… with the vomiting thing, you know.”

“No problem,” I nodded and began to change my clothes as well.

***

Today I didn’t have a session with the doctor so I planned to return to my room straight away after the breakfast and get more sleep. I was terribly drowsy and it all was Paul’s fault (who, on contrary, seemed rested and rather cheerful).

Who could have believed (not me, apparently) that I’d find a like-minded person, who shares the same ambitions as me, in the face of the fifteen-year-old boy? But the more peculiar thing was the fact that I could have met him anywhere in the city but eventually I had met him here, in the loony bin.

I got acquainted with Paul about four or five days ago but I reckon that I can already call him my friend. However, today –- after the breakfast –- I did something that wasn’t a very _friendish_ thing to do. But then again, all the blame should be attributed to my unceasing curiosity –- and not to my ill-breeding or indiscretion (well… maybe just a little, in the latter case).

To put it briefly: I poked around in Paul’s personal belongings when he’d gone to his group therapy session.

That was low, I know, and I wasn’t proud of myself.

I knew exactly where to search: under Paul’s mattress. And I knew what to search: his notebook.

To tell the truth, I’d expected to find nothing but tear-jerking scribblings of a miserable schoolboy and yet I was wrong. This was a collection of songs with _the might-do chords_ (as Paul put it) written in the margins.

I hated to admit it to myself but his songs were actually _good_ ; and as I read them, the wave of jealousy rolled over my body, turning my fingers itchy to grab a pen and write down some better songs myself.

***

“So, I take it, you’re not gonna share your food with me today?” Paul smirked, scooping up the peas with his fork during the lunch.

“What for? You’re gonna throw it all out, anyway,” I responded and placed my fist under my chin with the elbow on the table. “You know, my dear auntie would kill me if she saw me eating those peas like you do.”

“ _Whyehhsdath_?”

“I don’t speak _Munchin’_ ,” I tried to joke.

“Why is that?” he repeated his question.

“’cause you eat your peas awfully wrong,” I chuckled. “The proper decorum demands to spear the peas with your fork with the help of your knife. And not whatever the hell you’re doing.”

Paul looked at me for a long second with his big, astonished eyes.

“Excuse me, sir,” he lowered his eyelashes but the corners of his lips were lifted up. “I promise, I’ll be a good boy,” his lips spread into a wide grin. “It won’t happen again.”

“I’m counting on it, son.”

“Am I doing it right now, _sir_?” Paul asked in a goody-two-shoes tone.

“Yeah, it’s better now,” I nodded with a smirk. “But practice makes perfect, my boy. You should know that. Otherwise, Mimi won’t like you.”

“Oh!” he exclaimed and something mischievous glimpsed in his eyes. “You’re taking me to your aunt then?”

“Erm…” I felt my cheeks becoming warmer.

“What should I wear?” Paul quickly added. “Should I bring flowers or something?”

“With those manners of yours, you’re gonna see my auntie no sooner than in three years, son, taking into account you practice like mad.”

“Oh, there won’t be a problem,” he winked. “I am mad, ain't I?”

“I said _‘practice like mad’_ , not _‘be mad’_ ,” I chuckled. “There’s a significant difference, son.”

“Oh… I’m so sorry, _Professor Higgins_ ,” Paul smiled and I smiled too; but my smile wasn't joyful. 

Professor Higgins… we read that play at school.

And then, out of blue, one specific line from ‘ _Pygmalion’_ flashed in my mind, making me feel uneasy inside.  

_What you are to do without me I cannot imagine._


	7. Chapter 7

“I see you’re having a good time with McCartney, ain’t you Johnny?” Todd burst into a loud guffaw, attracting everyone’s attention in the main hall. I wanted to coax somebody to loan me a pack of cards to play with Paul this evening, so here I was, in the main hall, trying to spot someone with the necessary item. And there was Todd who got in my way.  

“What’s that supposed to mean, _Toddie_?” I snapped, giving him a black look.

“You know what I mean,” his cackle died and now we were both glaring at each other.

“No, I don’t,” I growled through gritted teeth. “But I'm sure you're about to enlighten me.”

“ _Enlighten,_ you say _,”_ he tasted the word on his tongue as it was the first time he’d heard it. “Maybe I should _enlighten_ some nosy parker instead, huh? What’d you say, Johnny?”

“I’d say, I have no fucking idea what yer yapping about. You better stop jerking around, Toddie, and if not,” I clenched my fists, “get the _fuck off_.”

A sneer twisted his face, he blundered, “ _I saw you._ I saw you following McCartney to the loo. And not only today,” Todd simpered. “I betcha he sucks good, doesn’t he Johnny? He was wiping his mouth _so thoroughly.”_

He was provoking me, and it clearly worked out just fine for him. My knuckles turned white and my vision became blind with rage; and yet, a tiny voice of reason inside my head was struggling wretchedly to beat some sense into me, but I was losing my temper rapidly in a tremendous leap and the whisper of common sense -- which was almost inaudible now -- was quickly fading away along with my brittle self-control.

I raised my fist and smacked him in the face.

And since I’ve always had quite a right hook, I think I broke his snout.

Todd pressed his hand against his bleeding nose and the blood was dripping through his fingers down the floor. His jaw dropped as he was looking with astonishment at his hand, being stained with blood like he couldn’t believe it. I saw his nostrils flaring with anger and a twitch ran over his face, obviously from pain. 

He sprang on me and we both hit the ground, rolling on the floor and punching each other. He wanted to pound me in the face but I was faster to dodge from his random blows. Meanwhile, I was trying to kick him in the stomach with the help of my knee, never forgetting to shield my face against his frantic attacks. 

Todd was heftier than me and when he flipped me on my back and straddled my torso, there was no way I could reverse our positions. It was a well-known rule to keep the fight off the ground because if you happen to end up on the bottom, your opponent will have all the benefits to knock you out. Todd was fighting dirty: he punched me in the solar plexus and it hurt like hell. He almost knocked the wind out of me but then somebody dragged him off of me and I was put back on my legs.

During our brawl, all the patients in the room were staring at us as we fought and some of them were even chanting for us to _keep going_ and to _beat the stuffing out_ of each other.  

When the nurses pulled us apart, we were treated differently. The red-haired nurse asked me if I wasn’t hurt _(I wasn’t, though my chest ached a bit)_ and demanded to come back to my room. Whereas Todd was clasped by two guards who bent him over the sofa, while Nurse Stroud was preparing an injection to stab Todd in his arse.

***

Paul has just returned from the shower when I walked into our shared room. He smiled as he saw me but his smile didn’t last long as it immediately reshaped into a frown.

“John? What’s happened?”

“I…” I swallowed a dry lump in my throat. “ _Paul_.”

“Yes?”

I felt my eyes brimming with tears, but if there was anything in the world that I wanted more than just disappear, it was never let Paul see me crying. And at that moment, I couldn’t come up with anything better but to pull him into my arms and hide my head, along with my running tears, into his neck. I clutched him so tightly and maybe I was hurting him but my fear of being rejected or the assumption that he’d push me away and then condemn me for my weakness that was eating -- _gnawing_  -- painfully inside of me and I just couldn’t –- even if I wanted to -– let him go just yet.

I was genuinely terrified of how he might react but Paul didn’t recoil, _not even tried_ to loosen the grip; instead, he hugged me back and began to soothe me with his voice, telling me all those meaningless words that always make you feel better even if you don’t want to admit it.

I know he knew that I was crying like a baby in his arms: my tears wettened his skin and I couldn’t hold back my harsh sobbing.

“It’s alright,” Paul cooed softly, and then -- with a moment of hesitation -- he ran his fingers through my locks, stroking my hair tenderly. “Shh… I got you now. It’s alright.”

He felt so fragile in my grip like it actually was him who needed to be comforted –-  _not me_  -– and the thought of it made me feel even more bitter. I understood it right away that Paul was stronger than me –- not physically _(not yet, at least)_ but mentally –- and it made me ashamed of myself.

“I fucked up,” I muttered against his skin, not knowing if he heard my blabbing but he did:

“Shh… You’ll tell me later, yeah?” he whispered and his fingers caressed the nape of my neck. “But now, I need you to calm down, alright?”

I nodded but it all got worse: the feelings were suffocating me. I was drowning and Paul was the only lifeline to rescue me in the stormy sea. The feelings that I’ve been covering for so long under the mask of indifference were now taking over me and I pressed Paul closer to me.

Paul gasped but he never said a word of protest. We both needed consolation and what was a better way to give it to other living creature if not in the form of embrace? If I knew nothing else, I only knew _this._

He was patting me all over my body, my head and my shoulders, my back and my hands –- and little by little my sobbing began to wane. I became calmer now and bolder, too. My hands, that were frozen around Paul’s shoulders, lost their grip and were holding Paul in two places now: around his waist and the back of his head. The thick strands of his black hair felt so soft against my fingers and a sudden urge to bury my nose in his locks awoke off guard inside of me and my eyes, which had remained closed the entire time, shot opened and I pushed Paul away from me.

He blinked a few times, obviously taken by surprise, but his eyes were gentle and he wasn’t angry at me. A soft smile touched his lips as his eyelashes lowered down his cheeks.

And without thinking twice, I grabbed him into my hands again and embraced him for the second time tonight.

I hugged him again because it actually felt nice and very comforting, too –- and if we both enjoyed it, so why should I be the one who’d end it? I missed the human contact so much and in this cold, hostile place he was the only one who could’ve given it to me.

We stood like this for quite some time until my breath eventually calmed down and I gently pulled him away.

“I…” _what were the right words after that?_ “… thank you.”

“For what?” he smiled broadly and my heart skipped a beat.

_Don’t act like a dummy! Say something, don’t keep quiet! Say—_

“I wanted to play cards with you,” I blundered and my cheeks instantly coloured like I said I’d wanted to do something else with him. “That’s why I went to the main hall.”

“Cards?... Oh, I know Roger has a pack. I can ask him.”

“Roger?”

“A tall lad in the glasses.”

“Ah… alright. I’m gonna take a shower while you… you know.”

“Yeah, sure. Don't miss me too much,” Paul winked and walked out of the room.

Oh god. I really needed a shower now.

 ***

“It was stupid, John, really. Didn’t you know he has this aggressive disorder?”

“Conduct disorder, actually. He told me.”

Paul narrowed his eyes, “Same thing.”

“Do you think I got myself into a real trouble?”

“I don’t know, John. Why did you smack him in the first place, huh?”

I turned my head, “It doesn’t really matter.”

“Doesn’t matter, eh? The doctor is gonna ask you for sure about it. And you better make up something convincing enough to get yourself out of here.”

“I know what I’m gonna say him, alright? Can we change the topic or something!?”

“Alright. If you don’t wanna talk--”

“I don’t,” I heaved a sigh. “Now, what games can you play?”

***

To my biggest surprise, Paul knew more card games than me. He taught me how to play some of the games while I showed him one or two tricks. To make the playing more interesting we agreed to ginger it up with truth or dare.

I lost _(again)_ so it was Paul’s turn to ask me: “Truth or dare?”

“Mm, let it be truth this time,” I said, as we were both sitting at Paul’s bed.

“As you wish, Johnny,” he winked. “Alright, tell me what is the grossest thing you have had in your mouth?”

I crooked my lips, “Any suggestions, Paul McDirty?”

“ _Me dirty?_ And who asked, ‘ _when was the last time I wet my bed?’_ Huh?”

“Well,” I smirked even more. “I don’t see anything dirty in my straightforward question, Macca my dear. But you—” I pointed a finger at him,” you were implying something really nasty.”

Paul rolled his eyes, “Will you answer my question or not?”

“’course, I will,” I nodded. “Just let me think a mo.”

“And?”

“Oh, alright, I’ve got one!”

“Speak up.”

“Black beetle,” I cringed at the memory. “I was eleven or so when I was hanging out with my friends at somebody’s house. We all got hungry and we – me and two other lads – made the younger one fix us sarnies. So, he returned with a plate and let us pick. And as you might have already guessed, one sarnie had a thingy within it.  ‘ey, don’t laugh!”

“Must have been disgusting, huh?” Paul cackled like crazy. “Was it still alive?”

“Well, in fact, yes.”

Paul roared harder and doubled up with a new wave of laughter.

I crossed my hands and gave Paul a stern look but it didn’t take me long to smile, too.  

“Alright, let’s now play Scabby Queen.”

“It’s a childish game, John.”

“So what? Can I at least win once in an hour? Sorry, I mean, _in a decade_?”

“You are so sure you’re gonna win?” Paul cocked an eyebrow.

“Shuddup and shuffle.”

“No, you shuffle. You lost, remember?”

“You’re very mean, Macca.”

Paul winked and passed me the cards, “You are just way too sensitive, Johnny.”

 _I'm not all that sensitive,_ I wanted to retort but something stopped me from saying it. Instead, I pulled a face _(Paul chuckled)_ and dealt the cards.

Finally, he lost.

“Oh god, I won,” I jokingly raised my hands up. “Now, truth or dare, Macca?”

“Truth.”

I smirked and rubbed my palms, “Where is your favourite place to be kissed?”

“And he says it’s me who’s dirty,” Paul shook his head.

“Come on, Paulie. Go ahead.”

He chuckled and a hint of amusement glimpsed in his eyes, “Well, my mouth, I think.”

“Just mouth? Don’t be so innocent.”

“I’m not innocent! Alright, my neck then. Satisfied?”

“No. You’re such a baby, Paul.”

“Argh! You said _‘kissed’,_ not _‘sucked’_.”

“Oi, come on! You’d answer _‘me neck’_ anyway.”

“So what?” he shrugged his shoulders. “It feels nice. I like being touched there.”

“Ah?” I blinked more than once. “What are you talking about?”

“Dunno. What are _you_ thinking about?” Paul comically tilted his head.

“Are we still talking about your neck?” I was aware of how ridiculous I must have sounded but I couldn’t help myself.

“Are we?” he lifted an eyebrow. “What an amusing conversation we’re having now! Let’s talk about my ears next.”

“How about we talk about your eyebrows instead?” I burst into laughter. “Did you pluck them before you came here or they’re perfectly arched just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“Oh, I see,” I was laughing like a drain. “It’s your turn to shuffle now.”


	8. Chapter 8

Something happened during the night when I was neither sleeping nor awake and yet I was dreaming and fully aware of what was happening around me in the room.

I was dreaming about my house and my mum who had come to see Mimi and me. We were sitting around the table and silently drinking tea, occasionally exchanging a word or two about some unimportant drivel. The sunshine flooded the kitchen, casting the gleams of light on my mum’s hair, making them seem fairer than they really were. She was beaming at me but at the same time I knew how unreal it all was: I could hear Paul’s quiet breathing that kept me on the brink of reality and slumber.

I half-opened my eyes and saw her -- _here!_ \-- in the dark room, standing over my bed.

“Mother,” I whispered and a dizzy smile touched the corners of my lips.

She smiled back at me and gently patted my hand, lulling me back to the sleep.

***

When I woke up, I had only a vague recollection of my dream but a strange feeling that somebody had been in our room arouse strongly in me like that wasn't really a dream but a tangible apparition of my mother who had visited me during the night.

I stretched my back upright and found Paul sitting on the edge of his bed. For a moment, I wondered how long he had been like this. I was about to open my mouth and say “hi” when I noticed how pallid he was. His arms were entwisted around his belly and he looked like he was about to faint.

At once, I got up and carefully sat down next to him, wrapping my arm around his shoulders. His skin was cold and his body was trembling all over.

“What’s wrong?” I asked with an unhidden cautiousness in my voice.

Paul lifted his chin up and looked into my eyes as he wasn’t really aware of my presence in the room.

“I feel…” he swallowed, “… really bad.”

“Do you feel pain? Should I call for the doctor?”

“No… no doctor. I just…” he said quietly and entwined his arms around my waist, putting his head on my shoulder. “I just need a second.”

“You sure?” I lowered my head down to look at his face and the sight of it really freaked me out: his eyes were rolling up and his forehead was shiny with the drops of cold sweat. “Paul?!” I squeezed him closer. “Paul. _Paul!_ Talk to me!”

He was going limp on me and his slim body leaned heavily against me. I tried to shake him to get him back somehow but, obviously, it didn’t help a jot.

And then my eyes spotted his dark purple bruise. There was a stain of dried blood right in the middle of it.

Someone paid us a visit during the night and that someone gave Paul an injection while he was deep in his sleep and unconscious to the world.

His body was quivering faster now and I couldn’t do anything to bring him out of this terrifying state. He wasn’t speaking anymore and his eyes were almost closed.

I felt like I was shivering too but I didn’t know it for sure; maybe I was or maybe it was only Paul and his skinny body in my arms. What I knew was, however, how scared I was at that moment and how my brains were boggling over some -- _any!_ \-- solution of what I should do next.

But there was no time for thinking as Paul’s condition was becoming worse with every second so the only better-than-nothing desition was to hold Paul tightly, supporting his head, and shout for a nurse.

I don’t know how much time it took for Nurse Oswald to come here, but for me, it seemed like an eternity of nothingness but Paul’s cold and cadaverous body and the deafening silence around us.

He was taken away and I was left alone again. 

***

After the breakfast, I had a conversation with the doctor and he _expressed his dissatisfaction with_ _my behaviour and me._ He knew it was me who'd started the fight _(there were witnesses who had been more than glad to tell on me and perhaps gain some of the doc’s approval)_ so his first question to me was why I had smacked Todd’s face.

And I honestly answered him that Todd had offended my friend and me.

The doctor shook his head and gave me a long earful before he mentioned that Mimi would come here tomorrow at twelve to pick me up and that I should be meek and mild unless I still wanted to get back home. But somehow it didn’t get my attention and all my thoughts were about Paul and his well-being. I wanted to speak about him with the doctor but he seemed to have enough of me already. In spite of that, I was more persistent than him and though he had asked me to leave his office, it wasn’t too long till he agreed to discuss Paul’s health with me.

I hesitated at first but finally, I decided to tell him about Paul being sick last night right away he’d taken his drugs. This, of course, was a lie since he’d never swallowed those pills in the first place. I knew I’d get doc’s full attention after those words and then I told him about dried blood around Paul’s vein.

“Maybe you should make some tests,” I said. “Surely, I’m not a doctor but… Don’t you think you should check Paul’s blood and all?”

“John,” Dr Bricks heaved a tired sigh. “The nurses are professionals. They know what they’re doing.”

Have I mentioned that I was persistent?

“But that just doesn’t look alright!” I started again. “Those pills are killing him and you just sit here and do nothing!”

“Calm down, John.”

“He’s slowly dying and you just don’t give a shit about that! You and your fucking staff!”

“That’s enough,” he reached for the phone. “Mrs Addington, can you please take John Lennon to his room? Yes. Yes, we’re finished.”

“Please, Dr Bricks!” I fell on my knees and pressed my palms together as in prayer. “Check his blood or something! Please, doctor! I’m begging you! Paul—”

Somebody exclaimed in surprise behind my back. I turned my head at the sound and saw the red-haired woman, eventually knowing her name. She was staring at me and then at the doctor with her mouth agape for a few seconds in the room filled with silence until Dr Bricks coughed meaningfully and gestured at her to get me out of here. 

***

I can’t express how angry I was when the nurse took me back to my room and locked me in with a key! My first impulse was to rush to the door and knocked fiercely on it to get Nurse Addington back and tell her everything that I was thinking about all of this, but I also was interested in getting back home _(or wasn’t I anymore?)_ and my compulsion to smash that door into smithereens subsided a little.

I felt like it all was getting out of control and the more I was mulling over it, the worse it became. I had this tiny acid voice inside my mind that was simpering derisively, stating that I wouldn’t have believed it myself that somebody was pumping Paul with drugs until I’d personally confirmed it with my own eyes.

But it wasn’t true, or was it? I believed Paul at the very beginning and now I had a proof of him being maltreated in here.

_But what if there was no blood, John? Would you think that he’s just getting worse without taking his prescription drugs? What if your impulsive urge to help this boy only aggravated his illness?_

No, it wasn't true. Paul was totally sane, I knew that. 

He just needed somebody to get him through this bedlam.  

***

Paul didn’t appear at lunch, nor did he at dinner. Therefore, I was eating in loneliness, not wanting to speak with anybody but Paul. Meanwhile, his friends _(were they really?)_ –- Liam and co –- were glowering at me the entire mealtime as it was my fault what was happening with Paul while I was locked in here, in the loony bin, with them. In fact, they weren’t alone in shooting me hostile glances. Todd and his so-called pals were among them, too. His nose was bandaged and he was staring daggers at me, apparently trying to kill me with his look.

The other patients, on the other hand, were struggling too hard to keep their eyes off me but they all failed miserably.

It seemed like there was no one who wouldn’t stare at me until the moment when everybody lost their interest in me like with a wave of a magic wand and focused their ears on the sudden doctor’s announcement which echoed throughout the hospital on the speaker.

It was all _‘I’m deeply concerned’_ and _‘terribly sorry’_ until the right words were pronounced and filled the canteen: _“…_ _deliberately or by mistake an unknown staff member abused his or her authority over the patient’s safety and well-being which has led to a worsening of the state of health of the mentioned patient. The investigation will be conducted in the light of the gross negligence…”_


	9. Chapter 9

“John!” Dr Bricks exclaimed when I walked into his office the following morning. There was a stranger sitting opposite him and, consequently, with his back to me. “I would like to introduce you to Inspector Stanley.”

The inspector turned his head and nodded in recognition. He was a tall, lean man, in his forties, with blue eyes and brown, slicked-back hair. 

“My pleasure,” I muttered as the man idly turned back his head.

“Sit down, John,” the doctor said, gesturing at the chair next to the inspector. I sat and he continued: “I think I owe you an apology, son. If it wasn’t for you, who knows what might have happened to Paul.”

“How is he?”

“He’s out of danger now,” the doctor paused for a moment. “We indeed have checked his blood and found something that shouldn’t be there.”

I crossed my hands, “What do you mean?”

Dr Bricks sighed, “We believe he’s been given the wrong medicine which wasn’t prescribed for him.”

“And, as I’ve been informed, it wasn’t the first time, right?” the inspector intervened and looked narrowly at me.  

“Yes,” I replied without delay, “I think somebody wants to harm Paul… and his stepmother doesn’t want to see him back.”

“His stepmother,” the man repeated and jotted something down in his notebook. “What kind of relationship do they have?”

“As far as I know, they're not very good friends. I guess Paul might be even afraid of her.”

The inspector remained inscrutable while he was writing down something else, “I see.”

“Dr Bricks,” I said, returning my attention back to the doctor. “What exactly is going on?”

“Well, John. Where should I start? The problem is--”

“Dr Bricks,” the inspector interfered again. “Firstly, I beg your pardon for interrupting you and, secondly, can I fill John in on the situation by myself?”

“As you wish, Inspector.”

“Thank you,” he said and looked at me. “You see, John, Dr Bricks don’t want to admit it but we might actually be dealing with the attempted murder here, covered as a deplorable accident and nothing more. The mixture of drugs that has been found in McCartney’s blood suggests that it would have been an outrageous oversight to give him a diluted solution of—“

Dr Bricks coughed, causing Inspector to smirk.

“So, as I was saying, it wasn’t a mistake but an intentional harm to kill or turn the boy into the vegetable.”

I felt the chills running up and down my spine and throat suddenly turned dry.

“Why… Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because the perpetrators should be punished, John. And in my plan to find them, you can play the significant role to help us get them,” he paused for a second. “Now listen carefully what you have to do.”

***

I bit the inside of my cheek, struggling not to burst out in laughter. Have I ever felt so silly and awkward at the same time?

The inspector gave me a list of instructions of my next actions and when I’d heard them all, it seemed quite exciting, like in those Marlon Brando’s movies. I remember how often I was imagining myself being a spy or detective when I was a kid and now I had an opportunity to actually experience my daydreams in the real life!

Although Dr Bricks wasn’t too pleased with the inspector’s request, in the end he was convinced to go along with the plan.   

So I was in the main hall now, ruminating over various possibilities to pass for a loony; within the limits, of course. It was crucial not to cross the line and therefore end up in a padded cell.

But what a pity! Half of my ideas seemed to be way too much for this peculiar audience to be put into actions.

Alright then, I had something else up my sleeve to make a show.  

“Hullo, fellas!” I grinned from ear to ear when I noticed a group of five lads playing cards at the table. “What are you up to?”

Nobody answered me and they all looked at me like I was an idiot.

“Nice picture, huh?” I nodded at the painting above us. “What do think, which came first: the name of this hospital or that artwork, mm?  

Some of them looked up at the picture, but still none of them uttered a word.

“Well? _How was in that nursery rhyme? Oranges and lemons_ _, s_ _ay the bells of St. Clements_ _,_ _I owe you five farthings_ … What, no one?” I shook my head and climbed on the table, causing everyone to pull back on their chairs. “Come on, fellas! Sing along if you know the words. _When will you pay me?_ Everybody! _When I grow rich!_ (I threw the cards off the table with my foot) _When will that be?_ (the cards flew all over the table) _I do not know,_ (the nurses became alert) _say the bells of_ some-thing!”

Two nurses were whispering in the farthest corner, shaking their heads with disapproval. One of them was Nurse Addington who went towards my direction.

“Come down, John.”

“But why, mother? Won’t you sing me a lullaby?” I smirked and kicked the glass of water down the floor. It broke to pieces and splashed the water into a puddle. “Maybe you will even pat my hair,” I added with a dreamy voice. “ _Pleeease?_ ”

The woman crossed her arms and turned her head back, nodding at the other nurses to get me down.

Oh well, it was quick. I was disappointed.

But not for long.

My eyes grew bigger when I saw Nurse Stroud holding a syringe and filling it with the solution from a small bottle.

“What? No! Please!” I cried as two nurses bent me over the table. “I’ll behave! Please, don’t do it!”

“Do you promise it won’t happen again, John?” Nurse Addington asked firmly.

I vigorously nodded my head, “Yes, yes!”

The grip loosened and the nurses let me go.

“Go back to your room,” said the red-haired nurse and I swiftly disappeared from their sight. 

***

It was all fun and joy _(although, I’ve nearly received a panic attack, but apart_ _from that everything else was just fine_ ) until I encountered with very snappy and very discontent Mimi in the doc’s office later that day. A wide grin, that was spread across my face less than a minute ago, quickly faded and I felt like a was a twelve-year-old boy again who misbehaved and expected a sharp and stern rebuke.

“Is that true, John Winston Lennon?”

Typical Mimi. _Well hello to you too, dear auntie!_   

“Well, I don’t know. That depends on what you mean.”

“Mrs Smith,” the doctor cut in, looking uncomfortable. _Yup, doc. We’re in the same boat now._ “I thought we’ve discussed everything beforehand…”

“Yes, Dr Bricks, we have,” she sent him a cold smile. “Albeit, I have also to hear it from my nephew.”

“Very well. Should I leave you the two of you alone?”

“I would appreciate it. If it doesn’t bother you, of course.”

“It doesn’t,” he said with a relief in his voice.

When it was done with the pleasantries and the doctor left the room, Mimi wasn’t so nice to me. She told me everything that she was thinking about me and my _irresponsible decision to be_ _involved in the investigation_ _which even –- and thank god! –- doesn’t have to do with you, John Lennon!_

“Mimi,” I sighed. “Isn’t it an honourable thing to help other people in need?”

“But not in the mental hospital!”

“Mimi,” I sighed again. “It won’t take long.”

“Everybody knows what happened, John, and I won’t just come and go as you change your mind, whether or not to want to stay here and… _help_ some loony patient!”

“Paul is not a loony, Mimi!”

“Oh. It’s _Paul_ then.”

“What did you _expect?!”_ I spat. “He does have a name!”

 She pursed her lips and it meant that I really got on her nerves and our parley was over.

***

I had barely managed to close the door behind me, walking into the room, when I was grabbed and pulled into a tight embrace. It happened so rapidly and unexpectedly that I couldn’t keep my balance and bumped against the door.

“Yeah, I missed you too,” I chuckled and enveloped my arms around Paul, returning him a hug.

I gasped in surprise at how firmly Paul had clung to me as if his life depended on it… as if he hadn’t hugged me strongly enough, I wouldn’t have believed in his sincerity. But -- god, he was so skinny… how was this even possible of someone being as slim as Paul to clutch so firmly?  

The strange thing was that I really did miss him, even though I had said it to him in a joking way, I think he didn’t buy it and understood it perfectly.

I tried to recoil but Paul didn’t let me go and I laughed quietly. My hands were now flying in the air, not knowing where I should place them. It seemed so natural for Paul to do that: to know how to soothe one’s worries and fears but it wasn’t the same for me. I didn’t have the slightest clue how to comfort people. Should I caress his body the way he did it to me? But the very thought of it made my cheeks grew hotter with embarrassment.

I was so confused about how I should act next so I just left my hands to be on their own and let myself be guided by intuition; and, of course, it wasn’t the best decision. My gut feeling failed me again and my palms were now cupping Paul’s face as if I was trying to push his head away from my shoulder, but I wasn’t.

In fact, I had no idea what I was doing.

“You’re prickly,” I said the first thing that came to my mind. “You have to shave.”

“Didn’t have time this morning, did I?” Paul muttered, pulling away from my chest and looking straight into my eyes.

“No…” I mumbled, turning red, as we stood like that for some time, doing nothing but staring at each other, with Paul’s hand wrapped around my back and mine around his face.

_What was he doing?!_

_What I was doing?!_

The look on his face gave me a slight feeling that Paul was expecting something from me. A kind word or maybe… or maybe something else that wasn’t just talking.

He lowered his eyelashes and let me go.   

“So…” I scratched the back of my head, watching Paul sitting down on his bed. “Have you talked to Inspector Stanley?”

“Who?” Paul moved a little to give me space as I flopped next to him.

“You haven’t?” I goggled at him, amazed. “How come?”

“Because the sky is blue. They actually brought the inspector here? Whoa… that’s impressive.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t hear anything.”

“Well, I didn’t. Nobody told me.”

I narrowed my eyes and stared at Paul closely, “What have you been up to all day?”

“Let me think. Oh, right! I’ve been lying in the emergency ward with my other hand being pierced with an IV, see?” he outstretched both of his hands, indicating at the two bandages around his elbows.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that,” I fell silent for a moment. “How are you feeling?”

“Mm, knackered,” he paused. “Erm, John?”

“What?”

“What day is it?”

“Sunday, why?”

“Well… why are you still here? I mean, you know… I thought you’d be at home by this time…”

“Oh. Oh that,” I turned my head, trying to hide a smile. “You see, the doctor’s decided to have some more tests, you know, just to make sure I’m really super-normal and all that. And you know what? The new tests have actually shown that I’m the King of the Loonies -- your input, I’m afraid -- so… yeah. I’m stuck with you, son.”

Paul shook his head, “John.”

I mocked him, “ _Paul?_ ”

“Tell me the truth.”

“The truth is, you’re awfully bony, Macca. Have you eaten today?”

“I won’t answer you until you answer me first.”

“So the answer is no, I take it?”

“Bloody hell, John… What’s happened?”

I ruffled his hair playfully, “Inspector told me not to tell you.”

“ _What?!_ You spoke to him? About what? What’s going on?”

I sighed, “Somebody wanted to hurt you, Paulie. And the inspector’s here to find out who.”

“My stepmother,” he snapped. “The case is over.”

“So you’re telling, it was her who snuck into your room and gave you a shot, mm?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Paul put his head on my shoulder.

“She had an accomplice then. That’s for sure. And I think it was a woman.”

“Why?”

“Because I saw her. I thought I was dreaming about my mum but it wasn’t true. She, that woman, was here, Paul. Someone of the nurses, or cleaners, or--”

“I have dreams about my mum, too.”

I looked at him and Paul sent me a reassuring smile. My forehead was now touching his.

I pulled away from him and blurted, “You better show me your bruise.”

“What? Why?” he lifted his head.

“I wanna check something.”

Paul raised an eyebrow and stared at me intently. I rolled my eyes and gave him a gesture to hurry up. Paul heaved an exaggerated sigh before he lifted his bandage a little bit higher. I took his hand and studied his bruise: it had gained in the yellowish colour, and -- after having a turbulent childhood -- I knew it had started to heal but still it looked pretty nasty.

“You know, when I was a kid,” Paul started promptly, “my mum always used to kiss it better, all my wounds. I remember once I fell off the bike and badly scratched both of my knees,” he paused as if pondering over something. “But there was no pain left after my mum’s kisses.”

I didn’t reply to this. It was still painful for me to talk about my own mother and I was scared I would burst into tears if I pronounced a single word about her. And yet, I wanted to do something to make him understand that I felt the same as he did but the right words wouldn’t come so I carefully squeezed his hand and stroke it with my thumb.

“Like this?” I whispered and gently pressed my lips against Paul’s bruise.  

I could feel how fast his vein was pulsating against my mouth. And when I pulled back, I saw his big and dilated pupils as if he had suddenly become tipsy just by this small, impulsive act that wasn’t supposed to mean much.  I just wanted to make him better somehow but I had never been good at comforting people. And yet, his hand was still laying on my lap, with my fingers around his wrist, and he never tried to jerk it away.

I raised my other hand and grazed my fingertips along his veins as I was painting a path or river on his arm, using my fingers instead of a brush.

I heard Paul laughing and my eyes -– that seemed to be mesmerised of what I had been doing less than a second ago –- met Paul’s, making me all eager inside to know what was he thinking right now.

“Ticklish,” he giggled and grabbed my hand to stop my manoeuvres. 

I gave a small smile and covered Paul’s fingers with my other hand, “Alright?”

“Yeah.”

I closed my eyes and kissed him.


	10. Chapter 10

Paul didn’t pull back. In fact, it turned out to be exactly the other way around.

His hands entwined around my neck and his lips were way more assertive to keep going; tenacious, even. He acted as if he had expected me to kiss him in a matter of minutes and now, as our lips touched, Paul took over the control, opening my mouth with his lips and drawing me closer to his slim body. His vigour puzzled me and caused me a little bit of dismay on two grounds: why I had kissed him in the first place and what I was to do about it.  

But Paul seemed really eager to snog me while I resembled a dead fish or a virgin. Tentatively, I wrapped my arms around Paul’s chest and focused on the sensation of kissing him.

It felt nice, that’s for sure. He had full and rounded lips and the way he caressed mine made me very keen to carry on but when I felt Paul’s tongue slipping into my mouth, I broke the kiss.  

“What are you doing?” I gasped and pushed him gently away from me.

“John,” he looked at me almost pleadingly, curling his fingers at the hem of my t-shirt. “I feel so lonely.”

He leaned forward, trying to catch my lips again. I turned my head away and his lips planted on my neck. Paul kissed me there and then lower, clinging to me.

“No… no, no stop it. This is wrong. Enough, Paul.”

He finally stopped and moved a little bit back, “Why? Am I not pretty enough for you?”

“Don’t talk rubbish. I’m not queer and neither are you.”

A glimmer of despondency reflected in his eyes as he stepped back from me.  

“Alright,” Paul lowered his head. “Yeah, you’re totally right…”

We both fell quiet for some time. I had no idea what’d bitten me to make a move at him but at that very moment when my lips touched his wounded skin, an urge to soothe him got the better of me, and I failed. My hasty action changed the way I saw Paul somehow, and yet I didn’t want anything right now but to kiss Paul again.  

Then I asked him, “You like me?”

Paul slowly nodded, “Do you?”

“Yeah, me too.”

Paul lifted his head and found me gazing at him. He gave me a small smile and I smiled back. At the same time, we moved closer to each other and our lips met again. At once my palms were around Paul’s cheeks and his embraced me around my shoulders. Even with my eyes closed, it was perfectly clear that I wasn’t kissing a girl. Paul’s cheeks weren’t smooth and his bristle gave a funny feeling to my palms, tingling them slightly, as my fingers stroked his sharp cheekbones.

It was now me who pushed the tongue into the other’s mouth. Paul chuckled against my lips and let me deepen the kiss.

We tasted each other unhurriedly, savouring the moment. A rush of sexual excitement dashed through my body and I felt my cheeks growing hotter with embarrassment and… and burning desire.

Well. I haven’t wanked in over a week now so there was no wonder why I got so excited from just a small _(almost innocent)_ kiss.

Even though it was me who kissed Paul, it was also me who felt like a little schoolgirl and it had to be changed. And if Paul didn’t have a decency to even blush a little than –- well. _I’ll make him._

So I grabbed his hand, that was around my shoulders, and pressed it against my groin.

Paul’s lips stilled and then he broke the kiss.

“Someone might come in,” he mumbled; his cheeks were red now. The colour suited him well.

“Yeah?” I squeezed his hand. “You didn’t seem to worry about it a second ago.”

“Well,” he flushed even more. “You do realise we have a window in the door?”

“You didn’t seem to mind it either.”

Paul smirked and gripped me harder. I gasped in surprise.

“I didn’t know you liked me that much.”

It was my turn to blush now. I put Paul’s hand on his knee.

“Lights out in an hour, right?”

“Right. Well, at least, I think.”

“Fuck. I need a shower now, I’m afraid.”

“Go then. Make yourself all nice and clear for me,” Paul laughed.

I raised my eyebrows, “Since when did you become so witty, Macca?”

“Since Monday,” he blurted, and then added: “No, actually it was Wednesday.”

“Good,” I flicked him on the nose and took my sponge bag before I went to the bathroom.

***

“How was the shower?” Paul asked casually when I came back to the room.

“Terrible. You prob’ly wouldn't believe me but I wasn’t alone there so I had to make do with a quick and cold rinse round key areas.”

“Oh god,” Paul laughed. “I definitely didn’t have to know that.”

“Well then, don't ask questions if you don't wanna hear the answers.”

“That was deep,” Paul gave me a serious nod.

“I’ll show you what else is deep,” I muttered and flopped next to him.

“Oh, yes please!” Paul laughed louder. “Show me.”

I smirked and leaned for a kiss but Paul stopped me with a finger on my lips.

“But first tell me what the inspector told you to do.”

“Oh Paul, you should know better when to ask such things, you daft lad. I’ll give you a clue: _after -- not before._ ”

“I have something else to ask you _after_ so speak up, John.”

I sighed, “You spoil all the mystery but fine, if you wanna know…”

Paul nodded and I continued, “Well, in fact, he just asked me If I wanted to help with the investigation. I said yes and he told me that I should stay with you in the same room ‘cause I was about to return home, you know, and there wouldn’t be any new patients so…  That’s it.”

“That’s it?” Paul cocked an eyebrow.

“That’s it. Oh, sorry no! One more thing. I had to stay here without raising any suspicions so I made a little show here to make it seemed all natural why I’m still here.”

“Natural?” Paul huffed. “You mean, you acted like mad?”

“Well, in other words… yes,” I wrapped my hand around Paul’s shoulders. “I have something to ask you, too.”

“Go ahead.”

“I don’t wanna ruin the mood but… how come the nurses never paid you any concern what was happening to you in this room?”

“You mean me being on drugs?”

I nodded.

“Well, you see, there four sleeping sections in here and it usually two nurses who are responsible for one of them sections. This is the second section and we have nurses Stroud and Oswald who are assigned to us. So they have to wake us in the morning and check the rooms. Stuff like that, you know.”

“So, you’re telling me, they just don’t give a fuck about their work, huh? You looked like a corpse -- no offense! -– and it none of their business!”

“Thank you for calling me a corpse, John.”

“Sorry, Paul, but you were no Sleeping Beauty. I was actually afraid, you’d wake up and choke me to death like a wendigo or something.”

“A who?”

“Doesn’t matter. Look, Paul…” I squeezed his shoulder and looked at my feet. “I’m glad you’re better now. Well, I mean, not one hundred percent but… uh… fifty-seven?”

“I’d say, seventy-eight, though.”

“Sixty-four.”

“Seventy-five, I should know better, alright?” 

“Sixty-five and that’s my final word, understood? I’m older, I should know better.”

Paul chuckled, “And you’re what? A hundred?”

“Nobody’s is a hundred percent, Paul, healthy or normal.”

“I’ll give you sixty-nine then,” Paul said after a while.

“What?! You mean that I’m as malnourished as y-- Oh. _Oh!_ “A grin on my face spread from ear to ear. “I get it.” I pressed him closer to me.

“Yeah, but _it_ was a joke,” Paul lowered his eyelashes and lightly punched me in the chest.

We both fell silent. Paul was staring at his feet and I was staring at him.

Then there were the footsteps behind the door and a voice exclaiming _‘Lights out!’_ when it all became dark through the window in the door.

“Do you wanna sleep?” I asked. “You must be dog-tired after everything that happened today.”

“I’m not that tired,” he looked at me. “I wanna talk with you a little bit more, though.”

“I don’t mind but why don’t we do it horizontally, mm? What do you think?”

“Alright.”

I patted him on the shoulder and we both exchanged smiles. We still had to change into our night clothes but this time I felt awkward. I think it was awkward for both of us. Paul, who seemed to be pretty confident with his body and who used to get rid of all the clothes before dressing into his nightshirt, tugged his t-shirt over his head and put the nightshirt on before taking his pants off.

I quickly changed into my nightshirt and sat on my bed.

“Don’t you wanna…” Paul waved at his bed. “With me?” He blushed.

“Erm,” I blushed too. “The bed is too small even for one person, you’ll have to snuggle up really close to me.”

“So?..”

I smiled, “You sleep next to the wall then.”

Paul climbed under the covers and held the blanket for me. I swiftly joined him and we both faced each other. I had to place my hand over his waist and pushed my leg between Paul’s legs, hoping that I wouldn’t fall down the floor in the middle of the night.

“What if somebody walks on us?” Paul whispered. “It’s my bed, after all. Maybe we should move to yours?”

“Nah, I’m too cosy to move,” I whispered too, although there was no reason to do so. “But if we get rumbled, let’s say that Inspector forced me to sleep with you.”

“…what?” A smiled gleamed Paul’s face.

“You know, for the sake of your safety.”

Paul laughed and buried his palm into my hair.

“You didn’t answer me, though.”

“What exactly?” Paul stroke my hair, gazing with curiosity at me.

“Why everybody doesn’t give a fuck about you in this place.”

“Not only here… my family, too. Maybe that’s the answer,” Paul bit his lip and looked down. “If nobody cares about me at home, why should anybody else at any other place?” Paul paused and then looked back at me. “But you. You’ve done more in a week than anybody else after… after the accident.”

“Shh,” I caressed Paul up and down his back. “Shh, Paulie. Something tells me that your dad will change his mind about you when the truth is out.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. Sometimes I think it’s only a dream but I just can’t wake up.”

“And me too?” I gently pushed him. “You doubt my existence?”

“That must have been some really powerful drugs to make me think you’re not real.”

“Does it feel real to you?” I asked almost inaudibly and pressed my mouth to his. His lips immediately opened under mine and we shared a long and tender kiss. Paul’s hand was now stroking my cheek and when the kiss broke, he said in a whisper: “It does.”

“Good,” I smiled. “Now close your eyes and sleep tight.”

“Goodnight, Johnny.”

“Goodnight.”


	11. Chapter 11

Sleeping with Paul was like hugging with an octopus.

He quickly fell asleep and soon his limbs were all over me, holding me so tightly through the night that I actually began to wonder whether he was really sleeping or just clinging to me, but his breathing was slow and steady so he was definitely fast asleep.

As for me, I didn’t want to sleep just yet, even though I felt drowsy. There were so many things to mull over…

The disturbing point was, whether or not I was attracted to Paul… or maybe I just missed the act of human touch and he happened to be near? He was gorgeous, that went without saying, though too skinny but that can be fixed.

Frowning, I ran my palm along Paul’s rib cage, my hand underneath his nightshirt, touching his bones with my fingers.

Paul rolled over in his dream and climbed on top of me, pressing his face against my neck. As he moved, his nightshirt hiked up around his belly, exposing more of his skin to mine, and I let myself indulge in the sensation of it, while my arms were locked around his waist, tight and secure, not daring to move a little bit lower and squeeze him arse.

Fuck. I wanted to touch him. And I wanted him to touch me too.

***

I was woken up by a tap on my shoulder.

“Open your eyes, Johnny. It’s time for you to get back into your own bed.”

Muttering some serious objections under my breath, I clasped Paul firmly in my arms and buried my nose in his dense hair.

“Come on,” he prodded me. “Let me go.”

“Just ten more minutes, alright?”

“Five.”

“Nine.”

“Stop it. There will be zero minutes if you keep it up.”

“Fine… Just tell me--” I yawned, never bothering to cover my mouth.

“Yes?”

“You…”I yawned once more, “have any plans for today?”

“Well, in a matter of fact, I do, Johnny,” Paul said and tried to get away from me. I didn’t let him and, with a defeating groan, he continued: “I have a session with Dr Bricks right after the breakfast and then, I suppose, I also have a group therapy.”

I kissed Paul’s cheek and asked him in a whisper, “Does it help you?”

“The therapy?”

“Yeah.”

“No,” Paul replayed quickly, without a second thought. “The nurse, who conducts meetings, forces me to talk and I’m not that kind of person to share all my thoughts and feelings with other people. She, that nurse, always asks me the same bloody questions, John, and I… I just can’t stand them anymore. _What do you feel, Paul? What did you feel when your dad married another woman? What did you feel when your mum died? What did you feel, Paul?! What, what, what!”_

“Shh,” I hushed him, stroking his hair. “It’s fucking unfair, I know, but you need to talk, Paul. There’s no other way to--”

“I don’t wanna talk about my feelings with strangers, John,” he mumbled against my chest.

My brows furrowed, “I don’t get it. So why’d you tell me everything when we met?”

“Because you only asked me how I had ended up in here, but you never asked how I _felt_ about all of this. I guess you just knew it from the very beginning. You…” Paul swallowed, “you knew, somehow, how wretched I was.”

“I just…”I paused and Paul looked up at me, waiting for my reply. “Wasn’t it bloody obvious, you weren’t so very chuffed? If I were you, I’d have prob’ly--  _fuck!_ ” In a heartbeat, I rolled Paul down on his back and, not so gently, pushed him in the wall as I heard a raising of footsteps behind the closed door; and -- in the last second -- I made it to my bed when a very pleased Nurse Oswald walked into our room without so much as a knock.

“Morning, boys!” She gleamed with a smile. “It’s time to get up.”

***

“Here you go, dear,” Nurse Addington said to Paul, putting his meal on the table during the breakfast. At once, my eyes grew wide as I saw what was on his plate. His meal differed drastically from what I was having along with the rest of other patients. My meal consisted of a yogurt, scrambled eggs and two pieces of bread while Paul’s was a full English breakfast with sausages and all.  

“What is that?” I asked when we were left alone. “Is it your birthday today? What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” Paul seemed to be as puzzled as me. “My last meal?”

“Ha-ha.”

Paul winked and put a generous rasher of bacon in his mouth, “ _Yer whont zum_?”

“No,” I muttered. “I'm watching my figure.”

Paul chuckled, forked a sausage and took a mouthful of it.   

“Come on, John,” Paul said when he’d done chewing. “You can have my other sausage or whatever you want.”

I desperately wanted to retort but I managed to keep myself together, “Nah, it’s fine. You need that fat in your body.”

“You’ve have lost some weight too, you know that?”

“Really? Wouldn’t hurt me, though.”

***

When Paul was off to the doc’s office, I was bored to the core. Returning back to our room, I collapsed on Paul’s bed and fixed my eyes on the ceiling, my hands under my head. Fucking Paul… making me all sad and blue without his company… I wonder what I will do when I’m back home. Soon enough, my life will come back to normal, and all this _loony bin thing_ would seem like a mirage or something that happened but not to me.

Perhaps I should go and visit Paul’s father? But for what? To tell him he’s wrong and he _must_ bring his boy back home? Or tell him that his son has nearly died, which wasn’t quite true, but still -– for what? To archive what exactly, to make him feel sorry for Paul? It seemed that Paul’s dad was completely brainwashed by his new wife if he had the decency to treat his son like that.

But Paul… What about him? Most likely, he’ll have to repeat his school year and this, I think, will be a hard blow for him.

 _Paul._ Why did you kiss me back? Do you find me attractive or you’re just too dejected to hit it off with another lass? Are you terrified to go for them girls ever again?  

_Is there something I can do to help you?_

***

It was around lunchtime when Paul entered the room.

“What took you so long?” I swiftly sat upright, giving him a disapproval look.

“Inspector,” Paul said and flumped next to me. “I spoke with him instead of the group session.”

“Oh. Care to share?”

“Sure,” Paul smiled and lied down, his head on my knees. “I’ll omit the inquiring part, though. There’s nothing that you don’t know already. What is more relevant is that we made a suspect list, John!”

“That’s great,” I stroke his hair. “Who is on the list?”

“Nurses: Stroud, Oswald, Addington, and Lewis.”

“Who’s the last one?”

“Ah… well. That was before you came here. She… she was looking after me when I…” Paul took his eyes off me. “When I was unwell.”

“She doesn’t seem like a villain to me.”

“She was the one who found me in, you know… in those states. Twice.”

“Huh. How does she look?”

“Average, I think. Light brown here, plump, small eyes.”

“I see,” my fingers were spinning curls in Paul’s hair. “I might have seen her but I can’t recall her.”

“She’s average, that’s why.”

“Hm, alright. Tell me this: who’s your personal number one suspect, Paulie?”

Paul stretched his arms and wrapped them around my torso, “Stroud. But I just don’t like her.”

“Stroud the Stout,” I pondered. “What about Oswald? Why she’s on the list?”

“She’s responsible for our sleeping section, forgot?”

“Oh, aye. It’s totally her. The most caring nurse in the entire fucking place.”

“Do you have a thing for her or what?” Paul got up from my lap.

“ _What?!_ ”

“You heard me.”

A smirk spread across my lips, “Well-well, Paul. We didn’t even get off each other just yet but you’re already being a jealous prick. Well done, Macca.”

Paul bit his lip, “That’s not what I meant.”

“Really?” I grinned and stood up, clasping Paul in my arms. He tried to recoil but I was faster to grab him and pull him close to my body. “Say it, Macca. What was that about?”

“Nothing,” he muttered, standing still like a soldier, his hands lose on his hips. “Just want to find out why you defend Oswald so much.”

“I do not defend her, Paul. She’s nice, that’s all.”

To emphasize my point, I started to kiss Paul along his neck, his weak spot that will make him surrender sooner or later to me. Although he didn’t want to give up to my kisses for some time, he did eventually when I sucked on his skin where his neck met collarbone.

“ _John_ ,” he pronounced my name with a soft drawl, throwing his head back.

“Yes?” 

“What were you doing in my bed?”

 _Jerking off,_ the answer was on the tip of my tongue. I let go of his neck and, with a chuckle, looked at Paul who was grinning as if he had read my thoughts, finally embracing me back. 

“Paul,” I crooked my lips. “Do you remember me saying about the answers to the questions you’re not prepared to hear?”  

Paul’s grin turned wider, “I’m prepared for anything, Johnny. As long as you’re at it with me.”

"Git," I gave him a gentle smile, “'course, I’m with you.”


	12. Chapter 12

Later that day Paul was mad at me as I refused to go to the loos with him and lend him my hand; not in that way, but to help him with medication, which was –- as usual –- given to him after lunch. This time, however, he had to take only two pills, not a pile of them, and Nurse Stroud didn’t bother to check his mouth to ensure that Paul had really swallowed them. Added to that, Paul’s meal was as nutritious as it had been in the morning, consisting of pan-fried trout with lemon-butter sauce, rice, broccoli, and three pieces of dark chocolate for dessert –- not bad, as for a mental hospital, I think. Whilst I had a chicken soup with two slices of white bread.

“Why not?” Paul arched his eyebrows as I told him ‘no’.

Shrugging my shoulders, I said: “Something telling me, these pills won’t harm you.”

“What do you mean?” something glimpsed in Paul’s eyes; anger? “You think I’m… _violent_ without them? Or you just want me to black out?”

“Neither of the two, Paul.” I heaved a sigh. “I’m not a doctor, but they look like vitamins to me – not sedatives.”

Paul gave me an accusing glance and crossed his arms, “I don’t wanna be drugged ever again, John! And if you don’t wanna help me - fine then! I’ll manage without you,” as Paul finished his monologue, he stood up and headed towards the loos.

“Fuck,” I cursed under my breath, watching Paul leave.

When I came back to our room, I didn’t ask him if got that stuff out of his stomach, and neither did Paul tell me a word about it, as he was lying on his bed with a pen and a notebook in his hands. He didn’t hide it under his mattress when he saw me walking inside and flopping down onto my own bed.

Fierce as a lion _(or rather a small kitten),_ Paul was vehemently scribbling something down, never-minding to give me a glance.

“Dear diary,” I started seriously, my eyes fixed on the ceiling. “John was a swine today,” I took a dekko at Paul: no reaction. “Ugh. Boys are such pigs. Why can’t he see how much I care about him? Is he dumb?... I guess, he is. Otherwise, he—”

A crumpled wad of paper landed onto my forehead, and not long the pen also followed it, hitting my hip instead. I chuckled and unfolded the paper, examining thoughtfully Paul’s message. Totally bewildered, I gazed at Paul, noticing the corners of his lips being slightly lifted up. I grinned from ear to ear, took the pen, rolled on my stomach, and started to ponder over my reply.

It was an unfinished quatrain _(or a free verse?)_ in which Paul described his thoughts about me _(he wasn’t very pleased)._ Quickly, I jotted down the next lines:

_When you say you should behave,_   
_It’s best you stop your rave._   
_'cause I know better_   
_Or should I put it in a newsletter?_

I crumbled the paper and threw it back at Paul. The pen, however, I extended in my hand. With a chuckle, Paul took it and began to read my ‘memo’.

There was silence for a moment, then Paul chortled and wrote me down his answer.

We communicated like that for quite some time, until the piece of crumpled paper was written all over and Paul had to rip off a new one from his notebook, and then a new one, and one more, and more…

“I like your writing,” Paul said, sending me a broad smile.

“Yours is pretty nice too.”

Still smiling, he paused and then asked, “Do you wanna read my other stuff?”

“Why do you even ask?” I grinned and sat down next to Paul. He smiled too, and handed me his notebook, allowing me to read anything I’d like. Although I didn’t want to lie to Paul, I couldn’t admit that I had trespassed on his notebook a few days ago and had already read it backwards and forwards.

“I wish I had my guitar right now,” Paul sighed.

“Yeah, me too. I liked it, writing with you,” I clasped Paul’s hand. “Paul?”

“What? Are you gonna propose to me?”

“Mm, some other time,” I chuckled. “This isn’t the best place for that, don’t you reckon so?”

“Yes, darling, I reckon that's so,” Paul said in a Groucho Marx voice.

I laughed and then pulled Paul into my arms, pressing my lips against his; we shared a kiss.

“Alright, you can ask me now,” Paul winked when the kiss broke.

“Right,” I run my fingers through my hair. “Give me back your hand then.”

“My pleasure,” Paul smiled and put his hand back into mine. “So, what that something you wanna tell me, hm?”

“Oh aye,” I squeezed his palm. “I’ll tell you something… Erm, Paul…” I stumbled. “What’s your middle name?”

Paul burst out in laughter, “That is something you wanted to ask me? Jeez…”

“Er… Are you Paul Jesus McCartney?”

“Daft lad,” Paul roared with laughter. “It’s James. And it’s my first name.”

“You’re weird,” I said and received a jab into my ribs. “Alright then,” I smiled and looked into Paul’s eyes. “James Paul McCartney, would you do me an honour to join my band?”

“Oh, darling… That’s so unexpected! I need to think about it first… I can’t make such rash decisions straight away, you know!”

I felt a little down, “Well, yeah sure… If you—”

“Yes! I’d like that very much!” He threw his arms at me and pulled me into a tight hug.   

***

There was some kind of perverted pleasure in watching Paul eat. Maybe it was the way he did it _(like everything that he ate was the most delicious thing in the world)_ or the fact that with every morsel of food he was gaining some weight _(that was great)_. But then again, it was rather strange that the hospital staff, out of sudden, decided to feed Paul properly as if they had never noticed how raw-boned he was until his blood had been checked.

 ***

It’s been three days since the investigation started but there were still no answers. I didn’t speak to Inspector Stanley again, but Paul did. Yesterday, he was called to the doc’s office where the inspector had been waiting for him to share how the case was going. To my big surprise, the inspector had no intention to interrogate suspects and he was barely visible in the walls of the hospital, preferring to deal with the case from his place.

At first, Inspector Stanley put a dossier together on the four nurses which included their personal information and employment record. It took him the second half of Monday to sort out the files. On Tuesday he visited Paul’s house, having a card up his sleeve. Both Paul and I had no idea what it was and the inspector wasn’t so keen to spill it out just yet. The only thing we found out about the visit was that Paul’s dad had now been informed of the outgoing investigation.

Today was Wednesday, and though it was getting late, both Paul and I still had a little hope that Inspector would drop in with more information.

Although not much has been happening during those days, there was something that actually did take place, namely: I got to know Paul truly.  

***

_All talk and no action,_ I sighed, crawling under the covers next to Paul, _another night together in the same bed and we still haven’t touched each other without any clothes on._

It was clear as crystal that Paul was expecting me to take the next step _\-- again! --_ as if it was me who was the boldest one between the two of us! Yes, it was me who kissed him for the very first time, but it also would have been me who would have run like hell out of the room if Paul hadn’t returned me that kiss.

So far, everything that we did was to get into the bed after lights-out and snog till our jaws went sore. And fuck if it didn’t turn me on to a point of making any nonsensical excuse to sneak into the bathroom. As for Paul, every time he was in a much better position than me: _he stayed in bed_ to please himself.

_And it had to be stopped tonight,_ I decided heartily, _or things might not work out for us when Paul will leave the hospital and come back to me._

Tonight. I have never been so passionate with him before and now all my actions were indicating that I had no intention to have another wanking session _alone_.

As our kisses became more sensual, and I was supposed to make something up to leave, I grabbed Paul by his arse and pulled him on top of me. He whooped in amazement and with a mischievous glint in his eyes lay down between my legs bent at the knees. I let him be in charge for now, so it was all up to him which borders he intended to cross with me this night.    

My hands were still on his bum, although there was nothing to squeeze –- Paul was extremely skinny -– so I moved my palms higher, placing them on Paul’s thighs.

I jerked my hips, causing our crotches to collide through the material of our pants. With a wet sound, Paul broke the kiss and gave a muffled groan, hiding his head in the crook of my neck. Hesitatingly, Paul rubbed himself against me and I moaned loudly –-  _a little bit too loudly_  -– in order to encourage his actions. He got the hint and started to move his thighs against mine. Not long his lips found my mouth again, resuming our snogging.

My hands were now caressing his back, sliding up and down his sharp features.

“Johnny…” Paul whispered in my ear, clinging to me. “Touch me, please.”

I nodded vigorously against his skin, my hands flew to his pants, tugging them swiftly down his knees. Paul lifted himself up a bit and got rid of them completely while I did the same to mine. With a moan, he fell back down on me and claimed my lips in a passionate kiss.

Quickly, I pushed my hand down between our bellies and wrapped my fingers around Paul’s shaft, pumping him close to my own dick.

“ _John, John, John, John!_ ...” Paul was moaning my name on and on, pressing my head to his neck.

“Yeah,” I laughed quietly and kissed his collarbone. "The most sensitive spot of yours, I remember." 

Paul groaned in approval, and I wanked him a few more times until my fingers unclenched and I took us both into one hand…

All my senses ran riot as the friction between our bodies became faster and stronger, gradually pushing me over the top with Paul’s thrusts into my fist and the rapid movements of my fingers around mine and Paul’s cock.

Paul came first and the feeling of his hot release on my skin made me follow him within the next couple of seconds. I gasped as Paul fully lay down and sprawled all over me like I was his pillow; my back started to ache after lying so long flat on the mattress and holding Paul atop of me, but the feeling on his weight was just too nice to make me roll him off of me.

“Oh… am I crushing you?” Paul lifted his head, looking into my eyes.

I wiped my hand on the sheet and locked my arms tightly around Paul’s waist.

“Yeah, alright,” he laughed and put his head back on my chest.

“You know, Paulie, I’ve been thinking…” I said after a while, “about your group therapy.”

“Yes?”

I paused and continued, “Maybe it’d be easier for you if I’ll be there with you, what do you say?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I just can sit there somewhere and when it’s your turn to talk, you will look at me and pretend it’s only me and you having a chinwag, you know.”

“… alright.”

I smiled and stroke Paul’s back, “Tomorrow then?”

“Alright,” as he replied, Paul lifted himself up a little and kissed me.

I kissed him back, wondering _how can a lad kiss so tenderly?_ I don’t know, but what I _do_ know is that I can effortlessly become addicted to Paul’s soft lips -– _and to Paul too_. I only hope he feels the same about me.

It could have been such a marvellous ending to this night -- having Paul atop of me, holding him, kissing him, slowly drifting with him to the sleep… Ignorance is bliss.

I opened my eyes and saw a silhouette peeking at us through the small window in the door. I saw her, I recognised her, and she understood it too. She watched us as Paul was still kissing me while my lips froze along with every cell in my body; Paul sensed a change and pulled away from me, while the nurse stepped away from the door and disappeared in the darkness.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Paul frowned, looking with concern at me.

“I saw her, Paul,” I swallowed, clasping him closer. “She was here, spying on us.”

“Who?” Paul whispered, his eyes big with panic.

I clutched Paul tighter to my body, “Sherry Oswald.”


	13. Chapter 13

“Oh god, oh god… what are we gonna do now?” Paul nearly began to whimper, as he moved away from me and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Stop it, don’t make it worse,” I grumbled and stood up, heading towards my bed. “There’s nothing we can do now. Lie down, Paul, and try to fall asleep.”

“How can you be so… so at ease?” Paul sounded totally perplexed.

“It’s her word against ours and something telling me nobody will believe her,” I said as I crawled under the covers.

“They won’t believe a nurse? Are you out of your mind?”

I closed my eyes, “Goodnight, Paul.”

I could feel his gaze at me and for a moment I thought Paul wouldn’t say anything tonight, until… “Where is my fucking underwear?!”

With a sigh, I pull my hand out from under the blanket and pointed at a pair of grey pants lying behind Paul’s bed.

“Excellent,” Paul mumbled and picked up the pants. He pulled them up to his knees when I said in a pondering voice:

“I’m not sure… maybe they’re mine?”

Paul stopped his dressing and looked up at me, “What?”

“I don’t know, everything looks so similar in here…”

“Where are yours then?”

“No idea, darling. Anywhere but not on me, that’s for sure,” I chuckled. “Mm, under your bed?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Paul said quietly and pulled the pants all the way up. “Goodnight, John.”

“Sleep tight.”

***

I woke up to a knock on the door. Immediately, I glanced at Paul, wondering why he didn’t wake me up, but he too was lying in his bed, looking sleepy and tousled. That was quite untypical for him as Paul was usually the one who’d get up first in the morning, so it could only mean one thing: the hour was ungodly.

“Dr Bricks want to see you now,” said Nurse Stroud, looking at Paul.

“What…” Paul asked in a raspy voice, rubbing his eyes. “Why?”  

“The doctor will answer all your questions,” she replied strictly. “Go wash your face and get dressed. Don’t make him wait.”

“Can I take John with me?”

I stared at Paul with wide eyes.

Stroud pondered a second, looking at me. Then she nodded and added, “Dr Bricks wants to talk to you too, but later. Let’s see what he will say to that.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Paul smiled and got up.

***

“Oh, John! You’re with Paul, splendid. Sit down, boys.”

Paul and I shared a quick glance. We sat at the table in front of the doctor who hadn't had a chance to change into his white coat. Inspector Stanley was there too.

“To start with, I’d like to beg your pardon for getting you out of your beds so early. It appeared that Inspector can be quite impatient when it comes to closing the case.”

I blinked a few times, digesting the information. Did he say _‘closing the case’?_

“Are you saying you’ve got evidence against my stepmother?” asked Paul. 

Inspector Stanley stifled a laugh, “You’re one stubborn boy, aren’t you? Haven’t you ever had a second thought it wasn't her?” Paul opened his mouth to say something but Inspector stopped him with a wave of his hand. “It was her, all right. I’ve, indeed, got a confession out of _Mrs McCartney_ and she, well, she admitted everything.”

“Everything? But how?”

“It’s my job to get confessions from people,” Stanley said; he looked very pleased with himself. “Besides, it was pretty obvious it was her from the very beginning, otherwise, who else could have done it? It’s always a spouse who’s a prime suspect,” he added contemplatively, “or a stepparent.”

“I just can’t get it. Why would she do it?”

“Give a confession?” Stanley smirked. “I’d say that sometimes the ends justify the means. And these means sometimes can be quite unprofessional… and improper. You understand, where I’m going with it?”

“Oh please, Inspector,” the doctor interfered. “It would be unfair to keep it from Paul.”

Stanley raised his eyebrows and indicated at me with his chin.

“I trust John,” Paul said rapidly and smiled at me; tentatively, I smiled back. “He’s the reason why it’s all over now.”

Inspector cleaned his throat, “Right. Well then, let’s say Mrs McCartney, somehow, got an impression that her accomplice had told us everything before we came to her. She didn’t expect it and at once burst into tears. She understood she got caught and she couldn’t hold back her emotions,” he fell silent and then continued: “The tricky part was finding the nurse who assisted her in poisoning Paul--”

“Poisoning?” I cut in and everyone, including Paul, looked questioningly at me. “Er… sorry.”

“Yes, John, poisoning. The nurse, who helped Paul’s stepmother, deceived Dr Bricks and made him prescribe medication, which, together with _off the record_ injections given to Paul during the nights, turned out to be ruinous to Paul’s body.”

“Not only to Paul's,” the doctor said, “but to anybody's who would have been given such, hm, treatment.”

I crossed my arms and looked at the doctor, “Dr Bricks… how exactly you were deceived?”

“Misreporting,” he sighed and fixed his eyeglasses. “In which it seemed like Paul was the most unstable and unbalanced patient in the hospital.”

I looked at Paul, desperately wanting to clasp his hand and cheer him up, but we weren’t alone in the room. 

“Huh,” that was all I said, and the inspector started again:

“As I said, the problem was with getting that nurse. There was no evidence at all who it was, no witnesses, no nothing. Until I discovered something really interesting.”

“What?” both Paul and I asked in one voice; then we looked at each other and smiled.

“Mrs McCartney’s surname before she married Paul’s father was Jonson, she kept it after her first husband, but her maiden surname was Oswald.”

“What?!” we examined together again; I let Paul speak. “You mean… they’re sisters?”

“That’s right,” Stanley nodded. “So, I had to play the same trick with Sherry Oswald by making her believe that the murder, that is, the secret was out. She didn’t confess though, but it’s not important now. We’ve got her sister’s confession which states that she wasn’t alone committing the crime. And that’s enough to get her to the police station.”

I glanced at Paul and noticed his furrowed expression.

“When did you, er, get her?” I asked.

“Two hours ago,” Stanley responded. “I intended to arrest Oswald immediately she arrived at work, but she'd never left. In fact, she spent the night in here.”

“So?” Paul lifted an eyebrow. “What so strange about it? Wasn’t she supposed to be on her night shift?”

“No, Paul,” said Dr Bricks. “This is a job for night guards and for two nurses whom you presumably have never met. And, in case of emergency, the guards must inform only the nurses on duty, since the other medical staff is not allowed to stay here overnight.”

“And clearly the guards are unable to cope with their responsibilities,” Stanley said. “Anyhow, why are you so concerned about that matter? Did Oswald come into your room this night?”

Paul had a peep at me before he answered hesitantly, “Yes. It was John who saw her. And I was fast asleep."

“That’s right,” I nodded. “But she didn’t come into our room, Inspector, she just stared at us through the door window,” I paused; should I say the next words? “Er, didn’t she mention that?”

The inspector looked strangely at me. Something dangerous glinted in his eyes and that something instantly made me regret my question. Did he get it? Or did he suspect something about me and Paul?

“Why should she?” he replied at last. “Does she have something to share with the police?”

“Well yes,” I dared him and looked straight into his eyes, though inside I was shaking like a leaf. “She should -– no, must -– tell the police what she was doing there, spying on us in the middle of the night. Did she want to give Paul his last, fatal shot?”

“In that case, it was a miracle that you weren’t sleeping and spotted her in the dark,” Stanley smirked. “But that was also the reason why I had asked you to stay a little bit longer in the hospital, in the same room with Paul. Thank you, John. You saved Paul’s life.”

“Oh, I…” out of sudden, I turned extremely shy. “I only hope Paul will be alright now… and he’ll get back home soon.”

“It’s not that simple, John,” Dr Bricks heaved a sigh. “Paul need to be examined again. And he also must be checked if he is not bulimic.”

“Am not! Food doesn’t make me feel sick.”

“Better safe than sorry, son,” the doctor gave Paul a reassuring smile. “Besides, it’s my fault -- I haven’t been attentive to you Paul, and I’m terribly sorry."

“That’s alright, Dr Bricks." Paul looked at me, giving me a small smile. "I think I’ll be fine now.” 

I smiled too. 

“I’m going to call your aunt, John,” the doctor said after some time. “And if she’s available, she might even take you back this very evening.”

“So soon?!”

“That’s great,” Paul said and I stared in disbelief at him. “It’s time for you to get back home.”

“You think so?”

Paul simply nodded. 

“Alright,” I said. “Erm, doctor? Can I ask you for a little favour?”

***

In the garden, outside the hospital, more flowers began to blossom, and the bench, where I had sat with the doctor a week earlier, was now drowning in white, blue and purple petals of different shapes and sizes; and the water in the small pond seemed clearer than before. I could see the fish hovering over the tiny little rocks, now and then floating up to the top and grazing the surface with their colourful fins.

Paul sat on his knees and dipped his finger into the water, drawing circles on the surface. Oddly, but the fish didn’t mind it and they didn’t move in all directions away from the unseen before intrusive digit, in fact, it was quite the contrary; they started swimming after it, following Paul’s finger. One fish tried to catch it with its mouth, and, eventually, it did, making Paul laugh boisterously.

“Hey, be careful there,” I said, watching Paul from the bench. “Don’t make them bite off your finger.”

“They don’t look like piranhas to me,” Paul turned his head back and sent me a wink.

“Yeah, yeah,” I sighed. “Come here, Paul, sit with me.”

Paul stood up and snuggled his cheek to my shoulder. I wrapped my arm around him.

We sat like that for a while, savouring the moment: the warmth of each other's bodies, the fragrance of the flowers, and the sound of splashing water coming from the beating of the fish's tails against the flat surface of the pond. 

Paul gazed at me and said, “Thank you, Johnny, for everything. Thank you for taking me out, I can’t remember when the last time I was outside. And thank you for going to the group session with me, I think I’ll do better next time when I’m without you. Oh, and thank you for—”

I hushed him with a kiss. Taken by surprise, Paul stilled for a moment before he eagerly engaged in the romantic kiss. He cupped my cheeks, caressing me gently with his fingers. I hugged him tightly and relished Paul’s lips.

“It’s the first time I see you in your real clothes,” he smiled, tugging at my plaid shirt. “It suits you, the red colour.”

“If you say so…” I pulled him closer and whispered in his ear, “I can’t wait to see you in your real clothes too.”

“John…” his mood suddenly changed and he wasn’t smiling anymore. “John, I want to tell you something,” Paul lowered his head and looked at his feet. “Something really important but I’m not sure if it’s the right time and place to tell you this. It’s just… I don’t want you to consider me to be someone I am not.”

I knitted my eyebrows and squeezed Paul’s shoulder, “What are you talking about?”

“Maybe you wouldn’t want me after what I’m gonna tell you, John. And I don’t blame you for that.”

I didn’t like where this was going. A whirlpool of random thoughts drawn me into its core where my fears were the most painful. Have I said or done something wrong? Or maybe he regrets about our intimacy and doesn’t want me to be near him anymore.  

“Paul?” I called him quietly, hearing my own voice tremble. 

He took a deep breath and blurted out everything that had been torturing his soul:

“I wanted to kill myself. And I almost did before you came here. That’s why the nurses were checking my mouth... because they knew I’d been collecting pills and stuffing them inside a pillow. Stupid, I know, they quickly found out about it… Soon after, I started to think about other options. Should I jump off the window? But they all have the bars on them… Or should I steal a knife? Alas! They’re too blunt to make a deep cut… I… I just… I was so lonely, Johnny. Everybody rejected me and I…”

“Shh,” I pressed Paul firmly to my chest, so firmly it was hard to breathe.

“I didn’t see another way out but death,” Paul sniffed, hiding his head into my shoulder. “And then came you. And you’re so funny, and bold, and caring…”

“Paulie…” my eyes brimmed with tears; I could’ve lost him before I’d had a chance to meet him, and it broke my heart. “Please, don’t… I don’t know how to comfort you… I want to, I just don’t know how…” I whispered, holding Paul tightly. “I promise you will never be alone again, as long as you want me to be with you. And I want you any less.”

Paul sobbed louder, burying his head in my chest. A few tears fell down his cheeks and made a little wet patch on my shirt. I closed my eyes and had them tightly shut, trying my best to overcome my own tears, but I couldn’t, and they started to roll down my cheeks.

“Will you promise me you won’t try to kill yourself?!” I cried, snivelling like a child. “Promise me, Paul! Or... or it will kill me too.”

“I won’t!” he exclaimed and lifted his head off my chest.” I won’t, I promise you. I—” Paul bit his bottom lip and never finished his sentence, but he didn’t need to; somehow, I knew what he wanted to say.

I whispered, looking deeply into his eyes, “ _And I you_.”

Paul kissed me and this kiss tasted bitter-sweet on both our lips, sweet with affection and bitter with tears. We kissed and held each other closely in the arms, and the time was quickly running out from us. The doctor should be here any minute now, to tear us apart and announce Mimi’s arrival.

 

 

**The end.**


End file.
